Do You Hear the Music?
by The Voice-ness
Summary: My version of how Owen and Annabel's life goes after they get married. They learn that things fall apart so that things can fall back together. Emersion of the new and the old...Old memories come back from the dead.
1. Chapter 1

I awoke to a high nasally voice overhead.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Venice, Italy."

I sat up, wondering what was going on and where I was. I was soon reminded as Owen got up from his seat beside me and held his hand out to me. I was on my honeymoon with Owen in Italy. We were _married_.

My _husband _and I made our way out of the plane and into the airport.

"How does it feel to be on Italian ground?" Owen asked me as we collected out baggage from the carousel.

"Great," I told him.

The Palace Bonvecchiati

When we entered our suite, I couldn't help but gasp.

It was beautiful.

It was all cherry oak wood and cream-colored furniture, and the bedroom had a four poster bed that could fit five people in it. I was in heaven. I hugged Owen as tight as a possibly could and kissed him.

"This room is amazing!" I told him.

"I know," he replied, looking around still.

After about twenty more minutes of fussing about the suite, I told Owen to go buy us some champagne so that we could celebrate. I made a point of emphasizing the word "celebrate".

As soon as he left, I hurried to prepare myself. I took a quick shower, slipped on a silk lavender lingerie dress that showed off my "assets" and dimmed the lights. I was just spritzing myself with some perfume when I heard Owen call my name.

"Annabel, you still here?"

"Yeah," I called back to him from the bedroom.

"I didn't know which kind of champagne you wanted, so I got Chalet de Franco and…" he trailed off as I appeared in the doorway. "Labelle Marco," he finished. He looked me up and down. "Oh," his voice was low as he stared at me.

I woke up the next morning, I was resting my head on Owen's chest. I looked up to see him already awake, his hands stretched behind his head. He looked down at me and gave a half smile.

I sat up a little, just enough so that I could say "Good morning", and then kiss his ear.

"Hey," his voice was casual.

I lay back down. "How are you?" I asked, running a hand over his stomach under the covers.

"Fine," he answered nonchalantly.

"I'm glad you're feeling okay," I told him. I propped myself on my elbows and kissed him on the cheek. "I," I informed him, "am going to go take a shower."

"Good luck with that," he said as I got up, head toward the bathroom.

While in the shower, I did some thinking about the night before. It was our first time doing it together, and I knew for a fact that he was a virgin before last night. He'd told me this way back in our first year in college, I had visited in his dorm room.

_I walked slowly and tentatively down a long corridor. I turned to my left, knocking on the door of dorm room 207. Before I even entered, I could hear the muffled sound of music. The door opened, and Owen appeared, his huge frame filling up the doorway. _

_"Oh, thank God you're here!" he exclaimed, pulling me into his room. As I entered, music filled my ears, pulsing through my veins. _

_"Isn't it awesome?" he asked me, as I froze mid-step in to the room. There a loud base line, the rhythm was skewed. Either that or there was no rhythm. With it there was some kind of clanking noise, along with someone voicing what sounded like a Tarzan yell. _

_"Super," I managed to yell._

_It was at that point that I was aware of movement to my left. I turned, and there was Rolly, coming out of the bathroom, his head bobbing. _

_"Hey," I greeted him._

_"Hey, Annabel!" he replied cheerily._

_Owen walked over to the stereo next to his bed and turned the volume down, the notes slowly fading until the music was playing at a normal volume._

_"It's called 'The Death of Toast'", Rolly informed me._

_"Oh." _

_It was a techno song. Great. I didn't even try to mask my disapproval as I listened intently to the song._

_Owen knew by the look on my face that I wasn't feeling it. "Let's face it, man," he told Rolly, "There is no power on this earth that could change her opinion of techno."_

_I saw Rolly's shoulders slump. "Aw, well," he said. "We tried. Hey, guys, I gotta get going. I'll see you guys later." We said our goodbyes and then Rolly was gone. I stayed where I was, silent._

"_I can't believe you didn't like the song," Owen said to me from his bed. I got up and sat next to him. _

"_I don't like techno," I told him._

"_Obviously," he murmured. "Which is why I have officially given up on trying to convince you otherwise."_

"_Good," I said curtly. I looked down at my hands in my lap. I knew he was looking at me. I looked up at him._

"_What's on your mind?" he asked._

"_Nothing," I told him._

"_Clearly," he said, "it is _not _nothing." _

_He was closer to me now, his arm pressed to mine. I looked into his eyes for a moment, then kissed him. He was a bit surprised at this random act, but I was not. I had a lot on my mind, and I was wondering how, exactly I would tell him. Finally, after just looking at him for a long time, I asked, "Are you a virgin?" and I knew he would tell me the truth, whether he wanted to or not._

_He turned slightly pink. "Um, well, yeah," he said._

"_Oh," I said. _

"_It would only be impolite if I did not ask you…" he trailed off, and I knew he remembered too late that no, I was not a virgin, because of what happened with Will Cash all those years ago._

_But I answered his question anyway. "I _was _a virgin…before Will."_

_He lowered his eyes. "Oh. I'm sorry."_

"_It's fine," I told him. "I'm not embarrassed." _

"_And that's good," he told me, and then he kissed me._

Then I remembered when he proposed. It was right after our college graduation, and we were in his car, about to go in to the station for our Sunday show. It was the first time he had told me he loved me, and that he wanted to be with me. Permanently.

Then I remembered our wedding day, which had only been a few days before. When the preacher announced us man and wife, I did not wait for him to give Owen permission to kiss me. I practically threw myself at him, draping my arms around his neck as I pressed my lips to his. There was an applaud from all of our loved ones, and I heard specifically Mallory, who was shouting, "Way to go, Annabel!" over the crowd.

I smiled to myself at these memories. Suddenly I came back to reality when I heard Owen's voice from a crack in the door. "Annabel, are you almost finished? You've been in there a while."

"Sorry," I said over the running water. "I'll be out soon."

I heard the door shut. Minutes later I was walking out of the bathroom, donned in one of the complementary bathrobes provided by the hotel. The bed, although haphazardly, was made, and Owen was in the same position that I had left him in earlier, his eyes closed. I plopped on the bed, making him open his eyes.

"Took you long enough," he said.

"I take long showers," I said, "get used to it."

"Whatever." He was sitting up now.

I pulled out my lotion and started to rub my legs with it. Owen just kind of sat there, _watching me rub lotion on my legs. _I looked up at him. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said abruptly. Then he headed to the bathroom. A minute later I heard the shower come on.

I glanced at the room around me. I realized how lucky we were. This room, I knew, had cost a pretty penny. We were only a year out of college, and already had solid jobs: Owen was a producer for _enlightened _bands like Truth Squad, and others, and I was a working at a high end law firm. Both of our jobs paid really well. So well that we were able to live in the same neighborhood as my parents were living in now, the same one I had lived in when I met him. Our house wouldn't be as grand as the glass house, but it was still nice. When we got back to the U.S., we would move straight into our new home.

I got dressed and stalked out to the living room/dining/kitchen area. There was nothing to eat in the room, so I just sat in the living room and tries to focus on the TV. It didn't work. My mind kept straying. I turned the TV off and just sat on the sift sofa in silence.

Then, through the open door of the bedroom, I could see Owen crossing the room, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and another, smaller towel he used to dry his hair.

He came out of the bedroom a few minutes later, fully dressed. He just stood there in the doorway for a second, and I pulled my knees up to my chest. And then, just like last night, I saw that unfamiliar expression cross his face. It was aimed at me, and I wondered what he was thinking, since he hadn't said a word.

But then, just as quickly as it came, The Look vanished from his face and he said to me, "Are you ready to go?"

I blinked. "Go where?"

"We are supposed to go on a tour of the city. The bus leaves at two, and it is one thirty right now, so maybe we should go."

"Oh, right," I said finally remembering. And at that, we left.


	2. Chapter 2

Hola…

Well, I feel kind of stupid.

Remember how I said Annabel was working at a high-end law firm?

I am changing that.

She is now going to be a teacher at her old school, Jackson. This fits very nicely with the rest of the story (the parts you have not read yet).

Yeah. That's about it.

Capítulo 2 coming sooneth!


	3. Chapter 3

We left off when Owen and Annabel left the hotel to go a tour around the city. Enjoy! Hopefully this chapter is better than the last.

Chap. 2

He seemed distracted. It was really bugging me. After our tour I insisted that we take a walk. I would then bring up his absence of mind. We came upon a small bar, and went inside. As we walked in, the smell of alcohol filled my nostrils. When we sat down at the long slender bar table, a bartender instantly stepped up in front of us. "How may I be of serrrrrvice?" he asked, his Italian drawl extremely audible.

I ordered some grape wine, and Owen had the same.

"Gozzzzz, orrrr no gozzzzz?" the bartender inquired.

"Excuse me?" I asked looking at Owen, who sat there looking just as confused as I sounded.

"Em," the man looked for words to translate, "bubbles, in yourrrr drrrrrrink?"

"Oh! No thank you." I did not know they put bubbles in your drink here.

My mind was whirling as I tried to figure out in my head what was up with Owen. He did not say much, and I couldn't help but notice how he gave me sideways glances every now and then. It irked me how usually he couldn't stand silence, and yet all day he was being so…hushed.

I had finally had enough. We were walking back to the hotel in silence and I asked him.

"What is wrong with you?" The words came out a little harsher than I wanted them to. "You've barely said a word all day! What are you thinking about? And what is with that look?"

He was silent for what seemed like a long time. "What look?" he finally asked.

"You look at me and you just get this look_, _I don't know. Like you're thinking hard about something."

He was silent again. "What's going on, Owen?" I asked, my voice softer.

He slowed his pace a little, and looked out on the street as a car drove by. He ran his hand through his hair. Then he began to speak. "Well," he said, "last night, after we um…" he cleared his throat.

"Yes," I prodded, knowing what he meant. "Go on."

"I was thinking, and I looked at you, and I was thrown for a second."

"About what?" I was curious. He did not look at me.

"Well," he said again, "for a split second I saw everything that we'd been through flash before my eyes. And then, I saw that day, when you told me about what happened with Will Cash, and how much you've changed. It just made me, I dunno, it made me proud of you, I guess. And it made me feel lucky to have someone like you."

He finally looked at me. I felt emotion well up inside me. I wanted to tell him that he was a big part of my "success" as a person now. I wanted to tell him that he was the one who pulled me through the dark, and that hemade me the person I am today. He made me honest. He made me look at the world in a different way. There was no more Light and Dark. There was everything in between. I wanted to tell him this so badly, so I did. When I finished the thought I added, "I'm the one who should be overcome with pride because I have you."

He looked forward again, not saying anything. Moments later I felt his hand brush mine. When I felt his hand again, I grabbed it, intertwining my fingers with his. His palm was warm on mine, even with the cool night air surrounding us.

When we made it back to the suite, it was about one in the morning. We turned on no lights as we both headed into the bedroom. I was so exhausted that I was barely able to change into a worn t-shirt and night shorts before plopping into bed and instantly falling asleep, Owen beside me.

I was awake, but decided not to open my eyes just yet. I reached over to my left, expecting to feel Owen there, but I encountered nothing but soft bedding. I jerked my head up and opened my eyes. It took me a minute to let my eyes adjust to the morning light.

"You're up," a familiar deep voice said. I looked around, but didn't see anyone. I finally sat up and glanced through the open doorway to see none other than Owen, who was sitting on the couch looking at something on his laptop. I could just hardly hear music sounding from the speakers.

I got up and walked over to him, noting that the shorts I used for sleeping were extra baggy on me for some reason. I was not about to dwell on this until, when I finally got closer, Owen began to look at me oddly. "What?" I asked.

He raised a dark eyebrow, then nodded toward my midsection. I looked down, surprised to see not the bright red of my night shorts, but the blue and white plaid of Owen's boxers. My eyes widened as I raised my gaze once more to meet Owen's. He was smiling now, and I felt my face flush. "Whoops," I mumbled, "Sorry."

He shrugged, turning his attention back to his computer. Still feeling a bit awkward, I sat on the couch next to him, peering over the screen of the computer to see what he was doing. He was on iTunes. Go figure. He was listening to a song called "Illiterate" by a band I didn't know. I could hear a voice― male or female I could not decipher― singing in some sort of foreign tongue, the pitch rising and falling in contrast to the electrified notes being played. Then he pulled up another window, revealing his email. I moved my left hand onto his knee, and my wedding ring glinted in the light. It was identical to the ones Owen still wore on both hands, with its own engraving etched on the inside. I slipped it off my finger and tilted it until I could see the STORY OF MY LIFE carved in the metal. I smiled at the familiar phrase. Then on sudden impulse, I leaned over and kissed Owen gently beneath his earlobe, then on his ear. He tore his eyes away from the screen just long enough to notice the ring still in my hand and kiss me. He smiled that warm smile of his and I found comfort once again in his dark green eyes.

I slipped the ring back on my finger. I let the music fill the space around us. While Owen continued to work on his computer, I studied his face: the curve of his nose and lips, the freckles near his ear, his dark brown hair. This was the guy― no, the _man_― I would spend my life with. Who knew what was going to happen?

It was then that a thought entered my mind. I didn't say anything, though. I wondered what Owen would say if I shared my thought with him. He would answer my question honestly, and I was nervous about what he would say, so I kept my mouth shut.

I wasn't able to do that for long, though, because soon he had finished whatever he was doing and he was looking at me.

"Watcha thinking about?" he asked me.

I took a long time to answer, thinking about how to phrase this correctly. I couldn't find a good way to say it, so I just kind of blurted it out. "Do you want kids?" I said it quickly and quietly, not looking him in the eye.

I did not have to look at him to know he was surprised to hear me ask this question. I also knew by his silence that he either did not know what to say or was still contemplating my question. Finally he spoke.

"Do you?" he asked. I thought about this. Did I want kids? The thought of it hadn't crossed my mind until just a few minutes earlier, and I wasn't sure. It would be nice, though, to have a cute little baby one day. I smiled inside.

"Yeah, I guess so," I said, still not meeting his intent gaze, "Not that I'm rushing or anything," I quickly added. Then I mustered up the courage to look at him. He was looking back at me, his face was unreadable. Then he answered me.

"I do if you do," he said casually. I sighed with relief, knowing that he was telling the truth. Plus, it was the truth that I wanted to hear. If he had said the opposite, I don't know what I would have felt.

"But you know," Owen said, setting his laptop on the coffee table in front of us, "before that happens, you know what has to be done, right?" he asked me. He had a mischievous grin on his face.

"What's that?" I asked, encouraging him to enlighten me once again.

"Conception," he said, his voice low, and then he kissed me. We lay down together on the couch, our bodies fitting together, like pieces to a puzzle.

Later on that day, I had to force Owen to come shopping with me. "Oh, stop being a big baby," I said, pulling Owen's hand with all my might. "Don't be difficult."

"I'm not being difficult," Owen replied, tugging his arm back, nearly making me fall to the ground.

"Why won't you just come in?" I asked, not letting go of his hand in fear that he may run away.

"Why should I?" Owen argued.

I looked into the Italian store. The clothes were calling me, saying, buy me, Annabel, buy me_._ I needed someone to critique my choices, so I appointed Owen as my judge.

He refused.

So now here I was, trying helplessly to drag him into a store that I could not pronounce the name of, but he wouldn't budge. "Why can't I just stay out here?" he asked.

"Because," I responded, "I need you to evaluate the clothes I pick out."

"Isn't that what the employees are for?" he whined.

"Yes, but I want yourconstructive criticism."

"Uh," he thought for a moment, "why don't you ask Clarke?"

"Do you see Clarke anywhere around here?" I said, gesturing toward the space around us with one hand.

"Use picture messaging."

I looked at him. "Long distance?"

Owen's face drooped. He was out of excuses. I gave him one last yank and stumbled into the store. He slumped into a chair by the changing rooms and took out his iPod, pushing buttons.

We had not even been in the store a full minute, yet my head was already reeling from the glory of being surrounded by so much fashion. Five minutes later I was headed toward the dressing room, my arms overflowing with clothes. I tried on a turquoise dress and stepped out of the small room.

I had to call his name to get his attention. "What do you think of this?" I inquired, twirling a little. The soft material swooshed around my legs.

"It's cool," he said, his voice loaded with monotony. He had barely looked up.

"What about this?" I asked again a few minutes later. I was sporting dark skinny jeans and an embroidered tank top.

"Awesome," Owen sighed, looking up for only a second before turning his concentration back to his mp3.

I sighed loudly. This was not working. Without warning I strode over to him and snatched the iPod out of his hands.

He stared at his hand for a moment, as if trying to process what just happened. Then he just looked at me. "Why?" he complained.

"Because," I answered curtly, "I need you to pay attention."

He slouched even lower in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Fine," he grumbled.

I tried on a few more outfits, and this time, even though grudgingly, Owen paid a little more attention. He actually gave his opiniontoo!

"You look like you got attacked by dandelions," he'd said about a bright yellow sundress I had picked out.

"I don't believe you are a mermaid," he commented on a sparkly formal dress with ruffles on the hem.

"Okay, you can't notlike this," I said, coming out of the dressing room once again. Owen perked up when he saw me, and I posed, my hands on my hips. I could see his eyes tracing me up and down.

I was wearing a bikini. It tied around the neck like a normal bathing suit, but the tie that usually went across your back was in the front, showing more cleavage than your standard bikini.

"Well?" I asked.

He said nothing.

I snapped my fingers loudly. "Eyes up here," I ordered.

It took him a moment to focus his eyes on my face. "It's…uh…it's cool." He was stammering. "I like it."

"Should I get it?" I asked.

"Yes," he said too quickly.

I turned slowly, heading back to my dressing room. I could feel him still staring at my bare back.

"You okay?" I asked as we exited the store.

"Yeah, I'm…fine." Owen responded as he shifted his weight. His hands were filled with shopping bags. I could tell he was uncomfortable; he kept shifting from one foot to the other, as if by doing this the load would get lighter.

"Do you want me to take some of those?" I inquired as we started to walk again.

"No," his voice was forced. I knew he wanted me to, but did not want to admit it, so I took a few from his hands without permission. The weight surprised me, and suddenly I knew what Owen must be going through. These bags were heavy_. _Despite the burden, I walked on.

"Okay, next stop―"

"Nextstop?" I heard Owen moan.

"Yes!" I exclaimed indignantly, "It's your turn now."

He looked at me, his eyes wide. "Oh no. No. NO. You are NOT, absolutely not, including me in this madness. I don't need anything. I am perfectly fine."

I looked him over. He was wearing a dark hoodie over a plain white t-shirt and jeans that were torn at the knee. "You look like a bum," I told him. "You have been wearing the same things since the day I met you and probably before that! You need a change."

"I do not!" he said defiantly. "What is wrong with the stuff I wear now? I have no need for any sort of suit or anything. Like I said, I am perfectly fine with my current wardrobe."

"Oh, come on," I pleaded. We were in front of a men's clothing store now. "Just come in for a little while and see if there is anything you like." I tugged on his sleeve. "Please?"

He peered over my shoulder into the store, looking disgusted. "No."

I bounced on the balls of my feet, trying to get as close as possible to his height. "Pretty pretty pretty please?"

"NO!" he began to walk away.

Then I had an idea. "You will go into the store, if you know what's best," I said in a singsong voice.

He pivoted, curious as to what I was getting at. "Oh really?"

"Yes."

"How so?" he was smirking now.

I pulled something small and dear to him out of my purse with my free hand. "If you want this back, you will come into the store." I waved his iPod in the air.

He was quiet for a moment. "Give it here. Right now." He said his face serious.

"No," I said curtly. "You will get it back when you do what I say."

His eyes were like switchblades as he walked past me into the store.

I knew suits were out the question. It was torture enough that I was making him actually enter a store, but I was not evil. I remembered the day we got married. I felt so graceful walking down the aisle in my silky white gown. Though I was looking straight ahead, I could feel the eyes of everyone watching me as I made my way to the alter. I glanced at Owen, my husband-to-be, and saw that though he was trying to hide it, he was very uncomfortable in his black tux. It was actually kind of funny, the way he casually tugged helplessly at his collar or pulled at the hem of his jacket. He was in agony.

He stood in the center of the store for a moment, just looking around.

"Do you see anything you like?" I asked, coming up behind him.

He smirked. "Of course not," his voice had edge to it.

He really hated this. I looked around for something, anything, to break the edge. "What about…" I scanned a rack to my left, "this?" I pulled out an olive green turtleneck.

"You're kidding, right?"

"What's wrong with it?"

He traced the shirt with his eyes. "It's just not… me," he said finally.

"Okay, what about this?" I held out another dark green shirt, but this one was a short-sleeved t-shirt with a tribal pattern on it.

He looked at it. "It's okay," he shrugged.

"You wanna try it on?" I goaded.

"Why not?" Owen said, exasperated. I handed him the shirt and he made his way to the back of the store to the changing rooms.

Before he made it there, I handed him some dark jeans. "Try these." I was hoping that they'd fit, considering Owen's size. I had grabbed the biggest pair on the rack.

I followed him to the dressing area and waited outside. I could hear him fumbling around, mumbling to himself. Then, he stepped out of the small room.

He looked hot_. _The shirt fit just enough to show off his muscles, but not too much that he couldn't breathe. The pants fit perfectly also, hanging loosely on hips. The legs wonderfully touched the floor instead of just reaching his ankles like I feared they would do.

"You look great!" I exclaimed, jumping up and down.

"Yeah, right."

I gestured toward a full length mirror on the wall nest to us. "See for yourself."

For a second he examined his reflection, a disgusted look on his face. But then, suddenly, the disdainful expression disappeared, and he cocked his head.

I did not even try to hide the smile that exploded on my face. "You like it, don't you?" I inquired excitedly.

He tried to turn his head away from me quickly, but he was not fast enough. A slight smile grew on his face.

That one little grin was enough for me. "That's it," I informed him, "We are sobuying that outfit."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

"Alright, a little more to the left," I instructed. "A little more, a little more, okay. That's good."

Rolly and Owen practically dropped the bulky couch onto the floor. It landed with a _thud _on the carpet. "Finally we're done," Rolly said, plopping himself on the couch. Owen followed suit.

"Get your sweaty bodies off my couch!" I hollered.

"No!" they both said in unison.

I sighed. At least all the hard work was done. I sighed again, but this time it was a happy sigh. I looked around my newly furnished living room; the dark red walls, the flat-screen, and now, the comfortable-yet-stylish sofa and loveseat.

"Man, that thing was heavy," Owen announced, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

"I told you to let me help, but nooo," said a husky voice from behind me. "You had to be all manly and crap." My friend Bev came up beside me. We were roommates all through college, and became friends. She was as close to me as Clarke was, and I liked that, considering that Clarke and I were pretty close. Then I had a flashback of one particular night.

"Oh, I love it!" my mother was raving as she walked in our house for the first time. She clasped her hand to her heart, smiling broadly. "You guys did such a wonderful job!"

"I did nothing," Owen said, putting his hands up. "It was all Annabel. She told me what to do and I did it."

This was true. Owen wanted nothing to do with the interior decorating of our house. "If it were up to me," he'd told me, "the walls would stay white and there would be as little furniture as possible."

"Where's the food?" I heard Rolly say.

"Shut up, you idiot!" Bev hissed at him.

This was the grand opening of me and Owen's new home, and _everyone _was there: Clarke, Rolly, Bev, my mother and father, Whitney, Owen's mother, Thersea, and Mallory. Kirsten was not able to attend, getting held up in New York with working, but she wanted to be here, I knew that. But it was fine, because I knew she was already having oodles of fun with her husband, Brian.

I led everyone from the foyer to the spacious living room. Again I took notice of my mother's gasp. That was a good thing.

"Oh, Annabel," she rushed to my side, grabbing my arm. "I'm jealous!" she stalked away from me and made her way to a nearby wall, running her hand over it. "What made you go with this color?" she asked, referring to the deep red that covered the walls from floor to ceiling.

"It made the room feel a little less…big." That was the only way I could put it without getting into details. The truth was, though, that when I was at home depot, the color stood out to me, and when I tried to imagine what it would look like, in my mind I visualized the living room as warm and cozy, the walls wrapping around me and comforting me.

But I did not say this.

"Can we see the kitchen now?" Rolly asked hopefully. This resulted in the "Shut up!" that came from Mallory, Clarke, and Bev in unison.

"What?" Rolly inquired innocently, "I'm hungry!"

"To the kitchen!" I announced, leading everyone (mostly Rolly) a doorway. As soon as he saw the food on the counter, he sped past me and dug in.

"How rude!" Mallory huffed.

I turned, facing the mini-crowd huddled in the doorway. "You know," I said, "you don't have to just stand there, you can look around if you want."

That was all I had to say for everyone to disperse around the area: Bev and Clarke, having already seen the house, seated themselves at the dining room table and started to chat. Owen and my father joined Rolly at the food. My mother was inspecting the Formica countertops, making important-sounding noises of satisfaction. Whitney took a minute to survey the room, then stood nest to me. "Nice house," she said.

"Thank you," I replied, watching as Mallory attempted to scold her brother and his friend for being so unsociable. "So, how's that book going?"

"Fine," she sighed, "Sort of in a block right now."

"Oh."

Ever since she had overcome her disorder, and even before that, Whitney had shown her potential for writing. She wrote poems and short stories and read them at Open Mic Night, and soon got her first novel publish. My mother was ecstatic, to say the least. Whitney had finally found her calling. Over the last three years she had been popping out books like clockwork, and I had read all of them. Her insight was incredible. Apparently other thought so too, because one of her books won the Newberry Honor. She had moved out of my mom and dad's place and got her own apartment close by. She was doing really well.

"How was Italy?" she was asking me now.

"Oh, it was fantastic." I couldn't help but gush. "Venice is such a beautiful city. We had so much fun."

She smiled, something she did a lot more these days. "Yeah, fun," she said slyly, looking at me, then Owen, then back at me again.

"Oh, shut up," I said, not being able to hide my smile. She was referring fun to sex, which was kind of embarrassing.

"Hey, Annabel," I was glad Owen called me, anything to guide my train of thought away from Whitney's earlier comment.

"Yeah," I answered back.

"Where's the drinks?"

I gave him a look. Was he seriously expecting me to get the drink for him? "In the fridge," I responded, raising my hand and pointing to the large silver box that stood in the gap between the countertops.

"Right. I knew that," he said, making his way to the refrigerator.

I looked around. Whitney was longer standing beside me, but had made her way over to where Clarke and Bev where sitting.

I glanced over to my mother, who was leaning on the island, her head cradled in her palms. She straightened when I walked over to her. I stood alongside her, and we both said nothing for a while as we surveyed the scene before us. All my friends and family were before me, and I was glad.

"I'm very proud of you, you know," my mother said finally. She turned her head towards me.

"Thank you," was all I could say to her at that moment. She leaned over to me, giving me a kiss on the cheek and smiled. I smiled back.

Everyone was gone. I sighed, studying my kitchen and dining room, my palms pressed to the cool surface of the countertop. I had just finished cleaning up, and was about to…I wasn't sure what I was about to do. I did not feel like going to bed, even though it was pretty late, and did not feel like watching TV.

I felt a pair of arms slide around my waist. I jolted, started. "Calm down," Owen told me, tightening his grip on me. His head was resting on my shoulder, and I could feel his breath on my collarbone.

"Well, it's done," I said, my voice sounding loud in the silence of the kitchen. I sighed again. "All done."

"Yeah," said Owen. "I wish I could stay home tomorrow with you, but me and Rolly have got to be at work at noon."

"Well, that's okay, Mr. Producer Guy," I said smiling, "I think I'll be alright."

"I'll be home early though," he told me. He was quiet for a moment, and then asked me, "When do you start at Jackson?"

"August 28," I replied. "That's two months from now." My impending teaching career was going to start soon, but not soon enough. It was still June, so that meant I had nothing to do all summer. I could hang out with Clarke or Bev, but only sometimes, since they were working too. I knew I was going to be bored this summer.

My thoughts were interrupted by a warm feeling on my stomach. Owen was rubbing my navel with his thumb. I turned to face him quickly, so quickly that he still had a shocked look on his face as I kissed him. He relaxed after a second, wrapping his hands around both of mine and stepping closer to me. The kiss deepened, and I stood on my tiptoes, pushed myself up against him.

I stepped away from him, bumping into the counter behind me. I walked past him, and turned, gesturing for him to follow me with my eyes. he did so, and I walked backwards until I reached the stairs that led up to the second floor. I stood at the foot of the steps, and Owen while Owen was still several feet away, I peeled my shirt off, carefully making my way up the steps, still walking backwards. Owen followed.

Halfway up the steps I removed a sock. Owen laughed at this as I dropped it over the railing. I took the other sock off, then started to unbutton my jeans. I slid those off too, tossing them over the rail. It landed with a plunk on the ground. I backwards-walked the rest of the way up the stairs in nothing but my bra and underwear, my husband trailing behind me. I stopped in my tracks when I reached our bedroom, my back against the closed doors. I pulled him in for a kiss before leading him inside the darkened room.

It took me a second to find the light switch. When I did, Owen stared at me for a long time. I could feel him taking in every part of me. I grabbed his hand and pulled him close to me, pressing my lips to his.

The next thing I knew, we were on the bed, and everything was a blissful blur after that.

Afterward, we lay together, Owen holding me close to him. He had his arms wrapped tightly around me, and my head was buried in his chest. I could hear the rhythmic thumping of his heart as I breathed in his scent, which was sweet and manly. His soft breathing soothed me into a gracious sleep.

The next morning, I woke up suddenly, I didn't know why. I looked over at my clock. It was 8:48. I tried to make myself go back to sleep, snuggling closer to Owen, but slumber would not bless me with its presence. I did not want to get up; I was just fine where I was, which was still in Owen's arms.

Then, for some strange reason, I started thinking of Mallory. Now eighteen, she more addicted to the fashion and music industry than ever. She was fluent in all things modern. Owen told me she was scaring him beyond belief.

I, though, was not scared at all. Mallory was just one in many teenage girls who had been "sucked in to the Machine Operated by the Man" as Owen so graciously liked to put it. I thought about the day I first met my sister-in-law, how she had been overjoyed to be in the company of a real-life model. Over the last few years she had grown out of her overly-bubbly-ness and lowered her personality to a more sophisticated bubbly-ness. Everywhere she went she did not walk, she strutted. She dressed according to the latest fashion styles. She preferred to be called a "young adult" whenever Owen called her a teenage girl. Really, though, I think she was turning out to be a fine young adult. She was taller than me now, five-eleven to be exact, and very pretty. She was definitely not the same middle school girl I had met the first day I met Owen, but in a way she was still the same.

I realized that my legs had gone to sleep. Forgetting where I was and how close I was to Owen, I began to kick them against the bed, trying to stop the pins and needles.

"What the―" I heard say groggily. He lifted his head from the pillow. "Are you having a leg spasm or something?"

He sounded cranky-ish. "No," I told him, looking up at him, reciting an apology with my eyes, "my legs fell asleep."

He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then closed it again. He rolled over onto his back and threw a muscular arm over his face. "What time is it?" he asked after a long silence.

I glanced over at the clock that sat on the nightstand next to me. "Five after nine," I told him.

He sat up quickly, suddenly alert. "Really?" he asked. "Already?"

Owen was an early riser. He kind of had to be when he had his radio show, and it kind of stuck with him even after he gave it up. He would always be up at nine-thirty at the latest, which was weird for me, given that I liked to sleep in whenever I could.

It scared me at first, waking up and finding that he was not there, but I got used to it. Then I found myself waking up soon after he did. I quickly began to notice that I was not capable of staying asleep past ten, something I had no problem doing before. That was kind of affect Owen had on people; hang around long enough and he'll rub off on you.

After a whole one and a half months of being married to Owen, I saw that nothing had really changed except for the fact that we lived in the same house and shared the same bed. We were still like we were in high school and all through college, having "discussions" on music and other topics of interest, hanging out with Rolly and Clarke and a few other friends we had, and of course, World of Waffles. This is where we went for breakfast every chance we had. This is where Owen took me after finally getting over the fact that he had "slept in" so late.

"I don't even know what they were thinking!" Owen was saying as he finished off the last of his bacon. "Why on earth would someone, _anyone_, for that matter, want to have a picture of a freaking toilet seat on their CD cover? Would you?"

"Uh, I guess not," I said. He was referring to a band who's album he was producing. There were some things about them he did not agree with, like their CD cover choice, for instance.

"That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. A toilet seat for God's sake!" he ranted again.

"You know," I said, shoveling a forkful of chocolate-chip pancakes into my mouth, "that night be a new style for CD covers. Home appliances, I mean. Last week I was at the library and saw a CD with a refrigerator on it."

This was true. I was browsing the CD section at the library when I saw it: a blue old-fashioned fridge standing in the middle of what looked like an attic.

Owen raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "Whatever," he said. "I still think it's stupid."

"I'm sure you do," I told him, "but it's their decision. Deal with it."

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a "Hey!" I looked in the direction that the greeting had come from, and saw Wes, a good friend of me and Owen's, walking toward us with his wife, Macy.

"How's it goin', man?" Owen asked as Wes took it upon himself to slide in our booth next to Owen. Macy slid in beside me. "Hi," she said to me. She was, I noticed, breathing hard.

"So, you guys just got done jogging, huh?" I asked her, smiling. She and Wes were practically famous for their love of running.

"Yeah," she smiled back. "I beat his ass by a whole fifteen seconds this time." She looked over at Wes, who was making a face at her.

"It was not fifteen seconds!" Wes said in mock anger. "It was only like, ten."

"No, it was fifteen."

Wes ran a hand through his hair, and for the millionth time I got a glimpse of his tattoo. I could never get enough of it. It was a hand, palm facing outward, with a big red heart in the center.

"Lift your arm again," I ordered him. He rolled his eyes and sighed, raising his arm. I got a full view of it. It was so cool to me, and I did not even know why.

"Why don't you get one for yourself?" he asked me.

"Annabel? Get a tattoo? That's a good one, Wes," Owen said, laughing. "She would never do anything like that."

And he was right. I'm very open to new things, of course, but there were just some things I knew I would never do. Like get a tattoo or eat a tree frog.

"Hey, it was just a thought," Wes said, shrugging.

"So, I see we've got more to the paty, huh?" a waitress stopped at our table. She looked at Wes, then at Macy. "The usual?"

Macy nodded, smiling at the woman. Like Owen, Rolly, Clarke and I, they were avid customers at World of Waffles. It kind of changed for Owen and Rolly though, after I introduced him to Clarke all those years ago. Mow every time we all came here, instead of Rolly footing the bill, Owen had to. When Clarke heard the story, she had the right to be shocked.

"You made a bet over me?" she had asked flatly.

Rolly had gone a slight shade of pink. "Well," he trailed off, looking away. I couldn't help but smile at this, because who wouldn't be weirded out if you were the cause of a tradition without even knowing it? "It was only until I got up the guts to talk to you…and then it would be over."

I could tell Clarke was disturbed by this.

A few minutes later, the waitress showed up with two plates. Wes told us about his most recent work, a mental abstract version of an evergreen tree make solely out of melted paper clips. It amazed me what Wes could do with his hands, the way he could take what people thought was ultimately useless and make it into something so beautiful. Like his trademark, the heart in hand. The original was made out of things Wes had found in the junkyard and in his trash can, and it was the most beautiful sculpture I had ever seen. That was why I had a miniature heart in hand on the nightstand right next to my bed.

I wasn't sure if my model was made of trash or not, but I did not care. It could be my own trash, for all I knew. One man's waste could become his own treasure and he would not even know it.


	5. Chapter 5

AHEM.

SORRY THIS IS NOT THE NEXT CHAPTER OF MY STORY.

MY COMPUTER HAS BEEN POSSESSED BY GOD-KNOWS-WHAT.

CATS, MAYBE.

BUT, UNFORTUNATELY, I AM STUCK USING OTHER PEOPLE'S COMPUTERS.

AND I SAVED MY STUFF ON MY COMPUTER.

STUPID ME.

STUPID STUPID STUPID ME.

SO, YOU HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL MY COMPUTER IS WORKING AGAIN.

YEAH.

SORRY.


	6. Chapter 6

I opened my eyes on a bright sunny July morning and could only think of one thing: water. My mouth was dry beyond belief and my stomach felt like it was riding a roller coaster. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but the moment my feet touched the ground I felt dizzy, struggling to keep myself from collapsing on the floor.

I grabbed the corner of the headboard, steadying myself, then felt my stomach lurch. I covered my mouth and ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet, gagging and fighting to breathe. When I was done, I sat on the cool vinyl of the bathroom floor for a moment. Then I heard a voice.

"Annabel, you okay?" I heard Owen ask from the other side of the closed door. I got up on my knees, flushed the toilet, and tried to stand. No use.

Owen opened the door and saw me sitting there and asked, "What's wrong?" he squatted next to me, placing a hand on the small of my back.

"I don't know," I told him, "I feel sick."

"With what?" his eyes were filled with concern.

That was a good question. "I don't know. Help me up, please." he held out a hand to me, like he had done so many times before, and lifted me up to me feet. I stumbled a little bit, and he steadied me. I leaned against him slightly as he guided me back to the bedroom. "Maybe I just need to lie down for a while," I told him.

It was half past noon when I finally woke up, feeling worse than I had before. I felt more nauseous than before and my stomach seemed to be knotted with cramps. I plopped my head back down on my pillow and closed my eyes. I heard some sort of movement in the room and opened my eyes. There was Owen, standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

"How ya feeling?" he asked me.

I told him how I wasn't feeling good at all, how my back was aching, my stomach was cramping, my head was throbbing, and I felt like I was going to throw up again. "But other than that," I added, "I'm just peachy."

He gave me a sympathetic smile and came over to sit down next to me on the bed. "I guess it's a girl thing, huh?" he said, putting a hand on my knee. When I nodded, he put in, "Which make me all the more gladder to be a guy."

I smiled in spite of my agony at this. Owen was always somewhat considerate of my "womanly status", mainly meaning that he would stay away from me as much as possible whenever it was "that time of the month" or whatever.

Notwithstanding my suffering, I got up, took a shower, and got dressed. I clunked down the stairs, my feet making loud thumps as they hit the floor heavily. My stomach growling, I made my way to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Everything in there made me want to puke again, so I went into the living room and turned on the TV.

After a while of flicking through the channels, the doorbell rang. I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand. _Where is Owen?_ I thought as I crossed through the foyer and opened the door. To my surprise, there was Bev standing there on the front stoop. "Hey," I said, stepping aside to let her in. "Long time no see."

"Yeah, I know," Bev said as she plopped down on the couch. "I was on my morning jog and started thinking about you, you I decided to stop by, and plus, I want you to hear something."

It was then that I noticed Bev's hot pink jogging suit and earphones. I sat down next to her on the couch and let her stick an earphone into my ear. The first thing I heard was what sounded like a Jewish hymn with no music, something you would hear on a Bible movie. Then out of nowhere came the rhythmic clanking of metal, and then a piano chord. The Jewish phrase was repeated over and over and over, as was the piano chord. Altogether it sounded cool and exotic.

I told Bev this, and she smiled. "I know. It's awesome, right?" she ran a hand over her ponytail and then dropped it into her lap. She was looking at me strangely.

"Maybe I should get Owen to hear it."

"No need," she told me, "he's the one who produced the album this song was on." "Oh," I said, my face flushed red. "I knew that." I knew little about exactly Owen did at his job, he only shared little snippets about what he did everyday when I asked. He would show me a random song or two here or there and asking my opinion on it, but that was basically it, hence my fuzziness on the logistics of his post.

"Are you okay?" Bev inquired. "You look a little green."

I told her about waking up this morning and feeling queasy, and how to this very moment I still felt like crap.

"Oh," Bev said after a moment of silence. She paused again, looking around, then asked, "Do you think you might be pregnant?"

_Pregnant._ I wasn't sure I had heard her right. "What?" my voice was a hoarse whisper.

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped abruptly, looking at something behind me. I turned and saw Owen coming towards us from the kitchen. Had he heard what Bev said? My stomach did unnerving flip-flops as I wondered this.

"Hey," he said to Bev he plopped down on the loveseat. _Thank God_, I thought. He had not heard.

Bev commenced to act like nothing had happened. "Look at what I downloaded from iTunes this morning," she said cheerfully, getting up and popping a white earphone into his ear. He listened for a second, then smiled as a look of recognition crossed his face. "I have the whole album on here," Bev continued, "It rocks."

It was weird. Bev and Owen had a sort of common ground, even though when Owen first met her he thought she was no deeper than a puddle. Blonde and pretty and rich, she was your typical girly-girl. Until one night in junior year of college, I invited her to Bendo.

**(THIS IS A FLASHBACK JUST SO YOU KNOW.)**

"_You should sooo wear this," Bev said, holding up a red low-cut top. "It's adorable."_

_"Bev," I said flatly, "It's the middle of winter. I am not wearing that." I glanced over at Clarke, who was sitting cross-legged on my bed. "Any suggestions?"_

_"Why don't you just wear what you have on? It's not that serious." She pushed up her tortoiseshell glasses and averted her gaze back to the book she was reading._

_"Look," Bev said to Clarke, "We are going out tonight, and while you look like you just robbed a thrift shop, Annabel and I will be looking like sexy foxes. Okay?" she tossed the red shirt at Clarke's head, laughing. _

_"I am just fine with my thrift-store look, thank you," Clarke laughed, hurling the top back. "Plus," she looked at me now, "I don't need to dress up. I'm not the one trying to impress a certain someone else." She smiled slyly at me._

_"Whatever," I said, playing off the hint about me trying to impress Owen, even though it was true. I turned to Bev. "Have you ever been to Bendo before?" I changed the subject_

_"Once," she answered, her head stuck in my closet. Her voice was muffled by all of my clothes. "I used to date this drummer. His band played at Bendo sometimes."_

_"What was their name?" Clarke asked._

_"Spinner something," she replied, holding a pink blouse up to herself, standing in front of the full length mirror._

_I mock-gasped. "Spinnerbait?" _

_"Hate Spinnerbait," Clarke said, not looking up from her book. She and I took enjoyment out of using Rolly's cousin's band's phrase for a bunch of sell-outs called Spinnerbait._

_"They did suck," Bev commented._

_Clarke glanced at her watch. "It's nine. We need to get going."_

_"But I haven't even picked out an outfit yet!" whined Bev. _

_"Who's fault is that?" Clarke said. "Plus, what you have on is perfectly fine so you don't need to take anything from Annabel's closet."_

_Bev looked down at her beaded turtleneck and skinny jeans, making a pouting sound. "Fine," she huffed, shaking her strawberry blonde hair. _

_I looked down at my outfit also. Clarke saw me and said, "You're fine too. Now let's go." She closed her book and grabbed her bag._

_When we finally made it to Bendo, it was packed, and Owen and Rolly were already there. After exchanging greetings and stuff, we found ourselves a booth to sit in. Rolly spoke._

_"These guys are awesome," he said, pointing to the stage. All five of us were crammed inside the small booth as we listened to whoever was playing the song._

_"Who are they?" Bev asked Owen._

_"They're this new band called Afterlife. They're awesome."_

_There was a bang of drums, and Bev flinched, causing both Owen and Rolly to laugh. I sat there, listening intently on the music. It was a bit loud, but I liked the lyrics._

_Fight to the death,_

_And hear you calling my name,_

_I feel your breath,_

_Oh, I'm going insane,_

_Hold me, hold me, hold me……_

_Ask a question, _

_Oh, don't know what to say,_

_Shed all the stress,_

_Bring me to brighter days,_

_Show me, show me, show me……_

_I looked at Bev again, and she was intently taking heed to the song. Then, suddenly, she stood up in the booth, causing both me and Clarke to scoot away in fear of being stepped on. She stood on her tiptoes on the seat, and looked over the crowd at the stage._

_We all sat there in amazement as she began to wave her hands above her head in sync to the music. I studied her face, which was sober. Her eyes were in a straight stare. Her hair cascaded behind her back, swaying with her as she rocked from side to side. I glanced Owen, who was watching her with a satisfied look. I knew that look; she was enlightened. _

_Hold me, hold me, hold me…_

_Show me, show me, show me…_

After that night, Bev was hooked. She and Owen were like music Nazi partners, as Mallory so graciously liked to put it.

Owen was right. "Music is the great uniter," he had said that first day I met him. How true. Since that night at Bendo, Bev had gone with every time. She even liked _techno. _Ugh.

I looked at the two again, Owen was now scrolling through Bev's iPod while Bev made her way back over to me. She motioned subtly for me to follow her into the kitchen.

I stood at the island, pressing my palms on the cool surface. Bev hopped onto a stool on the bar and cradled her chin in her palms. "So," she said, her voice low and soft, "do you think that's it? Do you think you're pregnant?" she looked at me with a steady gaze that never faltered.

_Pregnant. _Echoed in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skull. "I don't know," I told her. my heart was beating fast, and my stomach felt like it was being dropped from a cliff, adding to my apparent pregnancy pains. "I just don't know."

Bev went with me to the drug store to buy a pregnancy test. She offered to stay with meat home, but I told her I wanted to do it alone even though I didn't. I avoided Owen's "Are you okay" questions and headed to the bathroom. I opened the box and pulled out that little white thing, then did what I had to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Oh em gee I am such an idiot. This is the actual chapter 7. Not what you read before. I uploaded the wrong document.**

"Are you sure you want to go?" Owen asked me as I brushed my hair. I stood in front of the mirror and he was sitting on the bed behind me.

"Do you not want me to go?" I stopped brushing my hair, looking at him through the reflection of the mirror.

"It's not that," he said, lifting his hand and rubbing his neck. "It's just…you've been acting weird for the last week and a half, and now all of a sudden you wanna do this? I'm just kind of confused."

I bit my lip. The last week and a half had been consisting of the dull ache of pregnancy― yes, pregnancy― pains, me avoiding Owen as much as possible, and obsessing over the fact that I'm pregnant.

Yes, pregnant.

When I saw that little pink cross, I cried. Just cried― not out of sadness, but not out of happiness, either. I did not know what to feel, and from that day forward I was in some sort of numb state, as if being with child was far away instead of right at the tips of my fingers. I felt like a child, reaching for something on a too-high shelf, reaching helplessly but unable to grasp anything but air.

So now, even though I knew I was being difficult, I did not know what I wanted. I wanted to tell Owen, but did not know how.

That's right, I could not figure out how to tell him.

I didn't want to just come out and say, "So, how about those Lakers, and yeah, I'm pregnant" I wanted to…I'm not sure what I wanted. I spent days on end thinking about how to tell him while he was at work, but nothing seemed right.

My mind seemed to be in a jumbled yet empty state, if that was possible. And it was not helping that I had to stay home all day watching TV, I mean, there are only so many sitcoms and reality shows I could take, especially since I was not up for going out anywhere by myself. Although I was trying my best to avoid him, my only choices were to either stay home and go completely insane, or go to work with Owen.

The second option seemed best. For the baby, of course.

I knew I was throwing him off a little, seeing how I had been, in Owen's words, "acting weird" this last week and a half, but seriously, I was pregnant and on the verge of insanity so I had a somewhat legitimate reason to act weird.

I think.

I had persuaded Clarke to accompany me on this remarkable journey to the land of Owen's Job, and she had reluctantly agreed. Owen and I were to meet her and Rolly at World of Waffles and then head to the studio-thingy.

Owen and I rode in his car together to the World of Waffles. We were still on the highway when I caught a whiff of the familiar scent of bacon. Usually I would have swooned at this, but instead the smell made me feeling nauseous. I closed my window and leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I heard Owen ask.

"Uh huh," I lied. We both knew I was lying, but Owen said nothing. If he was angry he didn't let on, only turned up the stereo and drove on.

When we arrived in the parking lot of World of Waffles, Rolly's car was already parked in front of the building. The pungent aroma of bacon nearly made me pass out. I felt my head roll to one side. I blinked. Then I shook my head wildly, trying to get my thoughts straight. It didn't work. All I could think about was bacon and how much I wanted to puke right then.

"You ready?" Owen wanted to know.

I nodded and hopped out of the car in one swift motion, then regretted it. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I stumbled, holding on to the door of the car to steady myself. Luckily Owen did not see this but was already heading into the building. Okay, maybe he was a little pissed. He was sort of entitled.

The second I entered the restaurant, every part of my body― my insides, my limbs, and even my brain― seemed to revolt at the overpowering odor of pork. Now I was extremely close to fainting, bit held my composure and stalked over to where Rolly, Clarke, and Owen were sitting.

"Hi," I greeted them.

"Hey, Annabel!" Rolly said enthusiastically.

Clarke did the same.

I plopped down next to Clarke.

The next hour or so seemed to only come in a slideshow. It's like I was watching everything from some sort of PowerPoint instead of actually being there. My mind would drift for long periods of time before I was snapped back to reality by some unknown force. I could barley remember what happened all through breakfast, only those images: the shocked looks on all of their faces when I told them I wasn't really hungry, the even more shocked looks of their faces when I announced that the smell of bacon was intoxicating.

When we left the restaurant, I had never bee so happy in my life. Neither of us talked during the ride to the studio, but one look at Owen's profile told me he was a little more than slightly pissed, but not all the way. For the most part he just looked worried.

I had never been to Owen's job before, so I was impressed when he pulled up to a large modern-looking building. It was about three stories high and had a big, shiny metal overhang at the entrance. Fancy.

When we got inside, I was even more amazed. The lobby alone looked as if Bill Gates had customized it himself. There was a woman sitting at a large desk to my left, looking through some papers and talking on a phone. When she saw Owen and Rolly, she smiled and greeted them by name.

"Hey Scarlett," they replied in unison.

"Um, Rolly," Scarlett said, tucking a piece of auburn hair behind her ear, "these are for you, they came from Dexter." She handed Rolly some papers and went back to her conversation on the phone.

"Okay," Rolly said, turning towards me and Clarke, "time for the grand tour." He made his voice sound one of those annoying museum tour guides.

"I've already been here," Clarke told him. "I've seen the whole building already."

"Well too bad, you are going to see it again," Rolly said in the same tour guide voice.

It turns out that a music studio was much more complicated than I thought it would be. I thought it was just a building with a bunch of soundproof walls and microphones, but it was actually a building equipped with recording rooms, offices, instrument rooms, meeting rooms, and even several kitchens and lounges. Owen introduced me to some of his co-workers, and then took me to his office…alone.

Awww, crap.

"You can sit down, if you want," Owen said to me as he took a seat behind his desk. I noticed right away how cluttered it was, every inch was occupied by a paper or a CD. I sat across from him.

He was quiet for a moment, and I instantly detected the silence. just as I was about to say something, he spoke, his voice soft. "Why?" he asked me. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

That was all he had to say to make me want to cry. I could feel the sob catching in my throat, the tears rising to my eyes. And then, I felt the jolt in my stomach, and I knew I was going to puke. I got up without a word, and walked briskly out of the room. It was then that I realized Rolly's mistake: he had not shown me where the bathroom was during the tour. _Shit._ I was looking around frantically when I heard Owen's voice behind me.

"Annabel!"

I spotted Scarlett walking in my direction. I ignored Owen's calls and walked straight up to her. "Where's the bathroom?" I asked her. I must have sounded harsh or maybe even crazy, because she looked startled. "Down that hall," she replied shakily.

I had never run that fast in my life. I burst into a stall and threw up in the toilet. When I was done, I quickly flushed, then stood in the stall for a moment, leaning against the wall closing my eyes.

"Annabel?"

It was Clarke.

Crap.

Double crap.

"Yeah," I answered my voice shaky. I turned and unlocked the stall door and stepped outside.

Clarke was standing there, arms crossed over her chest. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she wanted to know.

For some reason I wanted to cry. No, I wanted to scream. And punch Clarke in the face. I wanted to run away and hide from the world, shutting myself in a box that not even the strongest force on earth could penetrate.

I did what as much of that as I could. I knew there was no way I would be able to find a box that strong, and I knew I wasn't going to punch Clarke in the face, so I managed to let out a small shriek and sprint out of the bathroom, where I saw Owen waiting for me there. I ran past him and ignored his calls, and put all my might into running towards the door when I heard him chasing after me. When I neared the door I pulled my key to Owen's truck out of my pocket, getting ready. I passed the front desk, thankful it was empty and no one saw me leave the building. I opened Owen's car door, got in, and saw Owen coming out of the door. He opened his mouth. _Annabel_, I could practically hear him as he called out to me.

I ignored him.

I thrust the key into the ignition and drove home.

**Okay. This half of the chapter sucked so badly. It's okay. Admit it. But from here on out it will be better…I hope.** **Xoxo!!!**

This was my entire fault. I had done it again, left Owen hanging without telling him anything. All for what? I had no idea. What the hell was wrong with me? I freaked out, and went farther than I ever had before. I practically stole my husband's car! Why didn't I just tell him?

It would have been so easy.

Owen, I'm pregnant.

Owen, I'm pregnant.

Owen, I'm pregnant.

Just as easily done as said.

That's how life is, because when I got home, things got better as well as worse.

That's how life is.

It was like heaven and hell.

Bittersweet.

The first thing I did when I got home was dart to the bedroom, hurl myself on the bed, and cry. Just cry. I let out everything that had burdened me for the last week and a half. I let out all my anger, sadness, and hurt. It was a full hour before I stopped. Then I just kind of sat there, on my bed, and stared at the wall.

I thought nothing.

For ten whole minutes I sat there. It was like my spirit had left my body, going off somewhere and leaving me to explore the wonders of nothing. When I finally came back to myself, I went to the bathroom and splashed my face off with water. It was cold and refreshing on my skin, and I felt that just by doing that I was feeling better. I felt as if a load had been lifted.

And I felt happy.

Yes, happy.

HAPPY.

I peered at myself in the mirror over the sink and smiled.

I smiled because I was happy.

I was happy for me, I was happy Owen, and I was happy for this baby.

Oh, God, Owen.

Owen is going to hate me.

No, he won't.

Nothing, not even Owen's anger, could take away my happiness.

I kept thinking this as I headed downstairs and sat on the couch in silence.

I was _happy._ I wanted this baby.

_Okay,_ I thought, _when Owen comes, I'm gonna tell him. He'll be happy. Just as happy as I am._

The front door opened, and then slammed shut. Owen entered the living room. He stood in front of me, silent. I could have sworn I heard time pass. He glared green daggers at me.

_Happy._

He stomped into the kitchen. I followed.

_Happy._

When I stepped inside, I saw Owen's big, broad back facing me. He was breathing hard. He was leaning against the counter. I sat across from him on a bar stool. He gave me that same, green glower.

_Okay. Do it. Do it now. Tell him. Say, "Owen, I'm pregnant". Just say it. Remember, you're happy. Okay, do it now…_

Owen's arm lifted above his head, and he brought it down on the counter with one swift movement. His fist smacked the surface with a loud bang, rattling my insides.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The words came out of his mouth and hit me like a baseball bat, nearly knocking me off my seat.

_Happy._

I couldn't say anything. My throat had gone dry. So Owen went on.

"Why do we have to go through this again?" he asked me. "Where have I seen this exact same thing?" his voice was loud, so loud. "You won't tell anyone what's going on, you try to act like everything is okay, then you run away when you can't handle lying to people's faces anymore.

"I thought we were over this," he went on, "But I guess not. I thought you really had changed. But I was wrong. I don't think I can handle this, Annabel."

What was he implying? That was when I found my voice. How dare he rip into me like this? He didn't even know what I was going through! And I was going to tell him! But no, he wanted to start yelling! I was happy, godammit!!!

"Well maybe," I started, my voice just as loud as his, "I wasn't sure how to tell you. Maybe I wanted to tell you, but was waiting for the right time. Maybe, just maybe, I had my own things to think about for myself before telling anybody!"

"I'm not just anybody!" Owen said indignantly.

"And don't you think that maybe I regret not telling you? Believe me, I wanted to tell you. But now, I don't know. Maybe I won't tell you!"

"That's stupid Annabel, and you know it," Owen said.

And the thing is, I knew it was. Stupid, I mean. Not tell him? That was out of the question!

Why can't he just let drown in my own goddamn happiness? "Fine," I yelled, getting up from my seat and making my way over to him. Closer and closer, I walked up to him. I did not stop until I was looking up into his face. "You wanna know what it is?"

"Obviously!" he threw his hands up above his head.

"Alright, then here it is!" I shouted. "I'm pregnant, Owen! That's right, pregnant! And I'm mother fucking happy about it!!!"

_Not exactly how I pictured it, but at least it's done._

I stepped away from him, backing into the solidness of the counter. From there I watched as his eyes grew wide and the anger in his face disappeared. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked down at my shoes for a second, then looked back up into his face.

Don't be surprised when I say that when I started to laugh, I had a reason. Owen's expression was _hilarious._ I laughed so hard at his surprised face that I had to cover my face with my hand. It only lasted a few seconds, though. "Are you mad at me?" I asked him after I was done with my hysterics.

He just shook his head. I stepped toward him, and he looked away. I took his face in my hands, forcing him to look into my eyes. "I'm sorry," I told him. "I really am. For putting you through hell these last two weeks. But now you know why." I paused. "Are you happy, then?"

Words to crack a smile on his lips. I felt him slip his arms around me and pull me to him. "Yeah," his voice was low and soothing in my ears. He kissed the top of my head as I buried my face in his chest.

We stayed like this for a long time. When we separated at last, Owen looked straight into my eyes and said three words. "I love you." then he leaned down and kissed me.

A hunch told me that he was telling the truth.

"I love you too," I replied after he stopped kissing me. We both smiled.

We decided to wait until tomorrow to break the news to everyone. It seemed best, since we were both exhausted from being subject to emotional catastrophe.

That night, when we both got in bed, Owen drew me to him and held me like he had never done before. He embraced me so closely that it seemed like we were connected; not even skin could separate us. It was as if it was his breath that filled my lungs, his blood that flowed through my veins. But one thing I was sure about was that it was his child who grew in my womb.

The next morning I woke up to the sun shining through the window and the birds chirping outside and I was feeling happy. I retraced in my mind the events of yesterday: I told Owen I was pregnant and he was happy about it. So we were both happy.

But of course, that was not all. Before we were happy, we were angry. I did the same thing I had done in high school. It seemed no matter how old I got I was always running away from something. But it would end now.

I made a resolve. From that day forward, Annabel Armstrong was no longer a fugitive to conflict. Annabel Armstrong would do what she wanted, say what she wanted. No more hiding.

Annabel Armstrong.

It still sounded kind of funny after being a Greene for so long.

Annabel, Annabel, Annabel Armstrong.

I looked up into Owen's still sleeping face.

Owen and Annabel Armstrong.

Owen and Annabel and…someone else would be coming very soon.

I was happy.

But something was still nagging at the back of my mind. Something Owen had said yesterday. _I thought you really had changed. But I was wrong. I don't think I can handle this, Annabel._

But I had changed. We both knew that. I knew I messed up, but was he going to just give up on me yesterday? My mind whirled and I squirmed out of Owen's embrace and sat up. I pulled my knees to my chest. This had awakened him, and he asked me what was wrong.

I looked at him. "I'm sorry," I told him once again.

He sat up and scooted over next to me. "For what? You told me you were sorry yesterday." His green eyes were so intense I had to look away. Without looking back into his face I told him everything. I mean _everything._ All the things that were on my mind the last week and a half came pouring out. I told him about how I was worried that being pregnant would make my teaching job harder, since I was starting in a few weeks, and how at first I wasn't sure I wanted a baby so soon, and how even though it nearly killed me when I lied to him, I didn't know how to tell him and I was nervous and confused and in a lot of pain. And I told him about the resolve I had made just minutes before because I didn't want him to give up on me and I didn't want to give up on myself. I told him I was so so so sorry for everything I put him through and hoped he would forgive me.

When I was done explaining, I let out a loud breath; as if it was being held the whole time I was speaking. I still didn't look at him. He was silent for a long time.

"Annabel," he sighed. He placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. I gazed into the green abyss that was his eyes. Green like grass. "Annabel," he said again, "I love you. Nothing in this world can change that. And nothing in this world could make me give up on you."

These words brought tears to my eyes.

"You made a mistake," he went on, his hands still on my shoulders, "and that's okay. What I said yesterday, I said it out of anger. Don't ever think I would give up on you."

I closed my eyes, and felt a single teardrop run down my cheek. The single tear of happiness. I glanced out the window and saw that a bird had perched itself on the railing of the balcony. It cocked its head at us, and for a second it looked as if it was smiling. At that instant my happiness was restored. I looked up at Owen and smiled, just like that bird. "Thank you," I said to him. That was the only thing I could think of to say.

"If you really want to thank me," Owen said, "Tell me you love me." He smiled.

I took his hand in both of mine. It seemed so large and heavy. I closed my fingers around it, and said, "Owen Armstrong, I love you with all my heart, soul, and mind."

"Thank you," he said. As he leaned down to kiss me, I stopped him, pressing a finger to his lips.

"If you really want to thank me," I said, "Tell me you love me again."

He smiled. "Annabel Gr ― I mean, Armstrong," he said, chuckling, "I love you."

"How much?"

He squeezed my hand. "With all my heart, soul, and mind."

I lifted my face up to him and this time, our lips met. I closed my eyes, remembering that the last thing I saw was Owen's face, shutting everything out except for that mental picture and his lips on mine.

**This chapter officially kind of sucked. Just a little.**

**Crap.**

**Double crap.**

**T****his chapter sort of got a little on the sappy side at the end, but that's okay.**

**Oh, well. Should I end the story right here? Should I go on? Lord knows I could do either one. But either way I need reviews for your opinion. End it? Go on? It's up to you.**


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry it's taking so long to get my next chapter up but I am still on Christmas vacation and trying to figure out how to start my next chapter so again sorry and next chapter will be up soon I promise.

Thank yaz!


	9. Chapter 9

"Alright," Dr. Roberts, a short woman with long dark hair with a few gray strands and pastel pink scrubs said to me, looking down at a clipboard she held in her hands, "it looks like you're about eight weeks along now." She looked up and smiled. "Do you have any questions?"

I looked over at Owen, who was in a chair next to the padded table I was seated on. He shrugged and turned his attention back to his iPod. I shifted in the itchy open-backed dress they made me put on when we came to the doctor's office. I looked back at Dr. Roberts. "Um," I said as I made a fruitless attempt to stop the draft that was coming in from the back of my dress, "are there any special, uh, precautions I should be taking?"

"Well," she answered, it's very important to stay out of the sun for long periods of time, and try not to overwork yourself. And stay away from anything that might cause stress. And here is a book that will navigate you through your pregnancy week by week."

After telling me about watching my diet and scheduling my next appointment, Dr. Roberts dismissed us.

"Listen to this," I said to Owen, reading from the book Dr. Roberts gave me on the ride home, "'by your eighth week, the baby was formed webbed fingers and toes.'"

"Humph," Owen said as he switched lanes, "Interesting."

"You did not," stared at him with serious eyes, "just say 'interesting'. PLACEHOLDER. PLACEHOLDER. PLACEHOLDER. Take it back. Right now."

He sighed. "Fine," he looked annoyed, "Lovely. What you just told me was just….lovely."

I just looked at him, feeling anger bubble up inside of me. Things were about to get really hormonal up in this car. "What's your damage?" I asked loudly, the sound of my voice bouncing of the confined walls of the truck. "Except for those first few days after I told you I was pregnant, you act like nothing is going on. You never acknowledge it, let alone talk about it, and it's like you don't even care. Is that it? You don't care?" I felt tears come to my eyes, burning. My vision began to blur, and I blinked, letting them fall down my cheeks. I didn't want to cry, but I couldn't help it.

It got worse when he didn't say anything. He just kept on driving, like I hadn't said anything at all.

"Oh my God," my voice cracked as I said this. "You _don't _care, do you?"

"It's not that." That was all he said.

"Then what is it, Owen? Huh?"

He opened his mouth to say something, I cut him off. "You know what? I don't even want to hear it. Stop the car."

"What?"

"You heard me. Stop the car and let me out."

"No." He looked annoyed.

Now I was crying for real. I was sad and angry at the same time, so I started hitting him as hard as I could on his arm. "Let me out let me out let me out!" I wailed.

"No!" now he sounded angry. I didn't care.

"Fine then," I said, and turned away from him, "if you won't stop and let me out, then I'll jump out."

"Annabel, be serious."

I started to open the passenger door. "You don't believe me?" I knew was overreacting, but I didn't care. With a jerk, the car had come to a stop on the side of the road in front of a Wendy's. But before I could step onto the curb, I felt a hand on my arm.

"Annabel, how are going to get home?" Owen asked me.

I sniffed and turned to him, wiping the tears away with my sleeve. "I am very capable of walking, thank you, and who said I was going to go home anyway? Not that you would care."

"Of course I care."

"Well, you sure aren't acting like it!" I retorted.

"Calm down. You know I care."

An older couple strode past us, trying not to stare. "Like I said, you sure aren't acting like it!" I slammed the car door and crossed my arms over my chest.

He sighed. "Well, I'm sorry for that. It's just, well, I've been thinking some things through."

"Like what?"

"Just some stuff."

My mouth dropped open in fake astonishment. "Two placeholders in one day? Man, you are on a role." my voice still had an edge to it.

He shot me a death look. "Very funny."

"I'm sorry," I told him, looking down at my hands. "But why won't you tell me what's going on?"

"It's not that easy."

It was then that I realized something. This conversation seemed more than vaguely familiar. Not telling people what's happening, getting other people angry and worried, oh yeah, and the It's Not That Easy. This sounded like something I used to do. It was kind of funny. The only thing I could think of to do was to say what I thought Owen would say to me in this situation.

"Is saying nothing any easier? Come on, I know you. Saying nothing is just about killing you right now. So just go ahead and say it." I nudged him.

"I'm scared." He didn't look at me, instead focused on some distant spot ahead.

"Scared to tell me? Is it that bad?"

He sighed and began to drive again, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the console between us. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand. "No. That's it. I'm scared."

At first I still didn't get it. But then I did. _I'm scared._ I waited for him to explain what he was scared of or why this was such a big deal.

But he didn't explain. Instead he just kept on driving. Everything was silent; but so _loud_ at the same time. _Where's the music? _ I thought to myself. It was sort of a shock to me, the silence was. I wondered why Owen had not turned up the stereo by now. After all these years, it seemed that music had become a part of me. There was always some sort of music playing whenever I was with Owen, whether it was coming from a stereo or and iPod. It was like an omnipresent power, invisible. After a while, I began to not notice it fully. It was just _there. _ But now that it was gone, the silence hit me with such a force that something else occurred to me.

Scared. Owen was _scared _about this whole pregnancy thing. Just like the music being there, I had gotten used to Owen being my rock, a pillar of strength that I could lean on whenever I felt weak. And I began to take it for granted, automatically thinking that he would be okay with everything. That he would be strong. I never stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, he would get scared and shrink away. I forgot that it could happen to anyone; even the strongest person could have a weakness.

"It's alright," I said to him finally, "it'll be okay."

He reached forward and turned on the stereo, glancing at me once before shifting his gaze back to the road. "But what if it's not," he said after a few seconds. "What if everything goes wrong? Because it can, you know. Everything could go wrong―"

"―or not," I said, reaching over and sliding my hand over his hand, lacing my fingers with his. "Maybe everything will go just fine. Just maybe, though."

"I don't know," Owen replied as he pulled into the driveway. He pulled his keys from the ignition and looked at me. "It's just that I don't have much experience with kids. Close to none, actually. How the hell am I supposed to know what to do?"

"Well, you do have a lot of people you go to for advice, you know. Like me, for instance, or my mother or your mother."

"I'll just stick with you." he said. "It'd be mighty awkward, me asking your mom for advice. Heck, it'd be awkward asking _my _mom for advice about this type of thing."

I smiled at him. "Okay."

This was my morning routine:

Wake up around 10:00 (the time Owen is about to leave for work).

Feel nauseous and run to bathroom to throw up.

Complain to Owen about how bad I feel

Wait until Owen leaves to have a nervous breakdown.

Eat like it's my last meal

So the next day after that conversation in the car, I went through these steps just like any other day. Then I took a shower. It was when I went to get dressed that all hell broke loose.

I tried to pull my favorite jeans on, but they would not slide up past my hips. I tried to pull them up multiple times, but my attempts were fruitless. Finally I got frustrated, ripped them off and threw them across the room. I began pacing the floor in tight circles, mumbling to myself.

"I came back to get some CDs…" heard Owen say from the doorway. I jumped, startled. "only to find you here pacing the floor…" he paused, "…with no pants on. Is there a problem here?"

"This," I said, picking up the pants and shaking them in his face, "is the problem."

"I'm not following." He shook his head.

"I can't fit inside them! They won't go over my thunder thighs!" I practically yelled. I sank to the floor, pants still in hand. I buried my face in the denim, crying. "God, I'm such a pig. I'm a big, fat, gluttonous pig." And yet another emotional breakdown.

Owen crouched down next to me. "Calm down," he said to me in a gentle tone. "Isn't it, like, normal? You know, weight gain?"

I looked up at him. "Are you calling me fat?"

The look that came over his face told me the he knew the mistake he had just made. "No!" he kept repeating frantically. He looked around, trying to think of something to say. "I just figured―"

I cut him off. "Well, Mr. I-eat-anything-I-want-and-never-retain-an-ounce, I'm sorry of I'm too busy carrying _your _baby to watch my weight. And I'm _sorry _if this pig just can't keep herself away from the goddamn donuts, okay? I'M SORRY." I got up and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and locked it. Less than fifteen seconds later I heard a knock on the door.

"Come on, Annabel," Owen said. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it."

"Yes you did!" I moaned. "You meant it because it's true and I'm just being difficult."

"Why don't you come on out?"

I sighed, wiping my eyes. "I guess so." I reached for the doorknob, and then stopped, letting my hand drop to my side. "Before I come out, could you bring me some pants, maybe?"

"Sure."

After splashing my face with cold water and putting on some oversized sweatpants, I exited the bathroom where Owen was standing. I didn't say anything at first, only placed my head on his broad chest and closed my eyes, suddenly feeling fatigued from crying. Owen squeezed me around the shoulders.

"It's just that," I sniffed, "pregnant women are supposed to be glowing and all that, right? So why do I look and feel like crap?"

"Well, I heard that the whole glowing thing isn't supposed to start until week nine, so…"

I was about to reply to this joke when the phone rang.

"I'll get it," Owen said, reaching for the phone on the cradle on the nightstand beside the bed. "Hello? Oh, hey, Mallory. What's wrong? Wait, what?!?" his face began to twist sourly, and he started to stride out of the room, the phone still pressed to his ear.

"What's wrong?" I asked, but he ignored me and left me alone. A few minutes later I heard a bang, like he had smashed his fist against something.

I thought it best to leave him alone.

Soon, he came back up the stairs, his face red with fury. He paced the floor for a minute, counting to ten over and over under his breath.

Finally I mustered up the courage to ask the million-dollar question. "What happened?"

Owen looked at me, as if just noticing me sitting there on the bed. "Do you know who that was? Mallory." As if I did not know already. "She was crying. Do you know why?" he paused, breathing hard. I waited patiently. "My dad just called from the airport. He's here, in Lakeview. He's coming to see us."

**Okay. I refuse to have anyone say that this chapter was even remotely sappy. It was not. Sort of emotional, maybe, (what pregnant woman is **_**not **_**emotional?) but sooooo not sappy. I think I did pretty good this time, even though the chapter was shorter than the others. But that's okay. I hope it was okay to you guys. Review or PM or whatever and tell me what you thought. *Sigh***


	10. Chapter 10

**OMG sorry I haven't updated in so long! After Christmas break I kind of went brain-dead so yeah. But here is the next chapter its short but I am still coming out of my coma so here it is. How long has been? Three, four months? Gosh I am such a shmuck!!! Don't hate me too much though ******

Have you ever been scared out of your wits over something you knew wouldn't kill you? That's how I felt when I saw Owen and Mallory's dad. If I thought that Owen got his height from his mother, I was terribly mistaken, off by a mile. Paul Armstrong had the height of a mutated grizzly bear, the width of a normal grizzly bear, and the heart of a teddy bear.

The first thing he did when he stepped into Theresa's house was hug his daughter and clap his son on the back, causing Owen to lurch forward. Mallory wasn't as hospitable as Owen was, which confused me. It would seem that Owen would be the hostile toward Paul considering his anger issues, but it was Mallory who chose to give the man the cold shoulder. When he embraced her, she just stood there, not returning the greeting. I mean, I knew why she was upset at her father's visit; according to Owen it had been at least three years since they had seen him and he hardly ever called, so this sudden drop-in was unexpected.

When he finally noticed me all but huddling in the corner of the room, he pulled me into a crushing embrace, leaving me clawing for air. "So you must be Annabel," he exclaimed. I gagged.

"Give her a break, dad," Owen said, coming to my rescue, "you're cutting off her circulation."

"Oh, sorry," Paul immediately let go.

I took in a deep breath; it hurt as the much needed air occupied my lungs once again. "Hi," I managed a smile. He grinned again.

"So, Theresa told me I'm gonna be a grandpa, eh?" If his grin were any bigger, his face would have shattered into a million tiny pieces. I smiled at him again, Owen blushed, Theresa beamed, and Mallory kept her focus on her father, her eyes frozen in an icy glare.

I was overjoyed when we sat down for dinner; I was starving, as always. It was almost as if Theresa could read my mind when she helped my plate. In front of me she set a huge pile of spaghetti topped with delicious red sauce. The smell made me swoon.

"Do you want something?" Theresa asked me now. In her hand she held a pitcher of apple juice. It made me want to puke. My face must have turned a little green because her expression got all concerned and she asked, "Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?"

"No," I reassured her, "but, um, can I talk to you, uh, in the kitchen?"

I avoided three curious faces as Theresa led me to the kitchen. "What is it?" Theresa wanted to know. "Is everything okay?"

I let out a strangled laugh. I had never felt so weird in my life, and it showed as I timidly asked her, "Do you have any, uh, pickle juice, by any chance?"

Her face went blank for a second as she processed my inquiry.

"I'm sorry," I said mechanically. "It's just, God this is weird, I have a strange, uh, desire to drink _pickle juice._"

"It's alright I know how you feel. When I was pregnant with Owen, I could eat nothing but fried chicken throughout the whole nine months." She pulled a pickle jar from the fridge. "So. How have you been?"

"Fine," I answered automatically, then rethought my reply. "Well at least sometimes I'm fine. I mean, one moment I'm happy, then I'm sad, then I'm hysterically angry…I'm always crying about something…I'm sure I'm being a pain to Owen."

"How's he handling it?" Theresa asked, handing me the pickle jar― it was empty except for the juice. She even gave me a straw.

"I think it's kind of awkward for him― the mood swings and all the crying― I don't know how even survived in a house with Mallory."

"It was easier then because all he had to do was go up to his room and stay there until the drama was over. But now it's not so easy. I don't think he knows how to deal with this kind of thing," Theresa said.

I nodded and took a swig of the green substance. Owen was not one who subjected himself to Public Displays of Affection, or even Private Displays of Affection. He would feign nausea every time I watched a chick flick or romance movie. I randomly wondered what he would do if I started getting all lovey dovey on him. The Pregnancy Bible said that it might happen, and soon. Joy.

Theresa was about to say something, but before the words could reach her lips there was a bang, and someone was yelling.

"Oh my God, dad!" Mallory's voice carried all the way to where we were standing. "What do you think is the matter with me? You just decide to waltz in here without warning and expect everything to be alright? It's been three freaking years, dad. Three years since you've visited, and a month since you've called." Pause. "No, I will not calm down! Don't think you can tell me what to do!" Another pause. "Ha! In case you didn't know, I'm eighteen. I am an adult, and I can do whatever the hell I want to!"

Then we could hear Paul. "I am your father―"

By then me, Theresa, and my beloved jar of pickle juice had made our way to the dining room. Mallory and Paul were standing across from each other, both leaning towards each other slightly with the table as support. Owen was nowhere to be seen.

"You are not my father," Mallory said through clenched teeth, cutting Paul off in mid-sentence. "My father would have had the balls enough to come visit, or even call more often. My father wouldn't have been so clueless as to why on earth I might be so angry. You are not my father. You are not the man I knew before the divorce. I don't know you." then she stormed out, and there was a clomping as she made her way up the steps. Slam. She was in her room.

"What have you done now Paul?" Theresa sighed.

Paul exhaled and lowered himself into his seat, his head in his hands. Theresa looked over to me; I had been cringing and blushing in the corner. "Annabel, could you let us talk in private for a moment? Maybe go talk to Mallory or go find Owen?"

I was glad to be dismissed; the tension and sadness and anger was almost palpable.

**Who should she go talk to first? Owen or Mallory? You decide. PM or Review please.**


	11. Chapter 11

It was that time of day when the sun was setting, tie-dying the sky a girlish peach color mixed with blue. Owen was sitting on the front steps, staring at nothing in particular. At least he wasn't punching anything; that was a good sign. "Is this seat taken?" ask him. He didn't answer so I assumed it wasn't and sat down on the other side of the steps. "So," I stirred my pickle juice around with my straw, "I'm here if you want to talk."

A long silence.

"Do you know how hard and how long I tried to hate that man with all my might?" he asked. It was a rhetorical question. I stayed silent as he went on. "I tried to hate both of them, my mother and my father. But I couldn't. It felt like they had sucked all the hatred out of me and used it as ammunition to fire at each other. That's when I hurled myself in to the music. All that anger I had inside me, I didn't know what to do with it, who to aim it at. But it seemed that all those heavy metal musicians knew exactly who to hate. They hated the world for me. Obviously that did not take the anger away, we both know that, but music provided that place where I never had to tell anyone the inevitable truth. I didn't have to hate anyone; I didn't have to be so mad because the music expressed my anger, told the truth in ways that I didn't have the strength to tell it."

"Are you angry now?"

"Of course I'm angry. I'm angry at my dad for the last five and a half years since the divorce, how he separated himself from us as if he didn't care. I'm angry at Mallory for saying all the things I should have said, for speaking out when all I could do was walk away and count to ten. I'm angry at her for being angrier than me. And I'm angry at you for being here while this is happening. You shouldn't have to see this."

"But it's good that I did."

"Why's that?"

"If I had not seen this I don't think I would have fully understood you, or even Mallory. I would not have known what to say to you. I know the whole story now. And it's also good that I'm here because who would you have talked to if I wasn't?"

"Good point," he replied, then, with one arm around my waist, reached over and pulled me across the steps, closer to him. The pickle juice sloshed around in my cup, and he glanced down at it, made a face, and stared into space again. "It's just that this whole thing is so stupid."

He stood up abruptly. "Look, why don't you go talk to Mallory? I know she must be royally pissed. I'll be back."

Before I could respond he was gone; he'd disappeared around the corner of the house. I heard a bang. I was about to go tell Owen not to get himself too mad, but thought against it, returning to the house.

I had somehow managed two massive plates of spaghetti _and _a jar half full of pickle juice up the stairs and was now standing in front of Mallory's closed door.

"Mallory?" I called, nearly dropping my juice.

There was no answer.

"It's me, Annabel. Do you want to talk? I brought your spaghetti." I tried to make my voice sound cheerful, but my words seemed to echo in the hall, dull and lifeless; there was silence again. My arms were getting sore and I shifted my weight a couple of times. I was about to go back downstairs when there was a click, and the door was flung open, slamming against the wall and almost closing right back in my face. I caught it with my foot and walked in.

No matter how many times I came into Mallory's room, the walls still seemed to take me by surprise. Flawless faces stared at me with made up, judgmental eyes, all of them looked as if they were smirking at me. I was extremely careful not to even glance at my own pictures, afraid that I might see that same accusing leer plastered on my face.

Mallory lightened my burden by taking her plate and setting it on her desk. "I'm not very hungry," she told me. She plopped down on her bed. I joined her.

I searched her face; she had not been crying, but her face seemed flushed. I wasn't quite sure what to say. "Um," I tried to think, "are you okay?" was all I could think of.

She exhaled. Her lips parted as if she were going to say something, but then they closed, and she just sat there, looking as lost as I felt. Finally she spoke.

"I―" she paused, "― I'm just so _mad._" She said. "I've never been this upset before…usually it's Owen who throws all the fits." She laughed awkwardly, bitterly. "It took me a long time to get over what happened with my mom and dad. I was only eleven!" her eyes stared straight into mine, a fire burning inside them. "and just when I feel like I'm safe, just when I get over it, just when I think I can live without him, everything just blows up in my face!

"And the worst part is," she continued, "is that he thinks he can just barge in here and tell me what to do, tell me how I should act, tell me that he is my father? Bull shit!" her voice rose and I jumped. "Sorry," she said, her pitch dropping a few octaves.

I thought about what she had said. back in high school, I sort of felt the same way. If I avoided my problem, them soon enough I would get over them, and they would disappear. And just like Mallory I learned that running from the past only makes it worse when it catches up to you, therefore provoking madness such as this. But I knew from experience that when things are left undone like that, you seethe. You force yourself to believe that its all over and you can just live your life as normally as possible, blotting out what happened, until finally a storm comes and washes all the black ink away and reveals that truth that you are compelled to embrace.

"Did you really think that your father was going to disappear from your life forever?" I asked. Mallory opened her mouth to speak, but I kept talking. "Do you really think that he wanted to make you feel the way you do? Don't you think he regrets the decisions he made, or why else would he be here, at your house, right now? You think that was for nothing?"

She sat there dumbstruck for a moment. And then she did cry. At first she bit her lip, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from coming, but then she just gave up, letting the tears flow freely down her cheeks. Not knowing what else to do, I hugged her, thinking that this is what I would want if I were her. She buried her face in my shoulder, her whole body quivering with loud, angry sobs. In the midst of all this I could hear her muffled voice answering my earlier questions, though I couldn't understand a word she was saying. I didn't need to know what she was saying; she wasn't actually talking to me, though she was speaking so vehemently I did wonder what epiphany she was coming to.

I planned on waiting for her cry it all out, but then there was a knock at the door. Mallory bolted upward, dragging her palms across her swollen eyes. I reached over to her desk and grabbed the box of tissues sitting there, handing them to her. When she had vanquished all remnants of evidence that she was crying, she said, "Come in." her voice still shook a little.

There was hardly any noise as Paul slowly slid the door open, a sorrowful look in his eyes. He glanced at me, then at Mallory, and I took that as a signal. "I think I'll go check to see what Owen's doing?" I tried to make my voice sound cheerful, but not even convincing myself. I gave Mallory a quick pat on the back, grabbed my now cold plate of spaghetti, and squeezed past Paul, who was still hunched in the doorway.

"Thank you," he said to me quietly.

When I got downstairs, Owen was sitting at the table, arms crossed over his chest. "We should go," he said flatly. He didnt look angry, just tired. His chest seemed to expand even bigger as he took a deep breath.

"I'll wrap that up for you," said Theresa, who was standing in the corner of the room, her arms also folding tightly around herself.

I followed her into the kitchen. "Is everything going to be okay?" I asked her. "I mean..."

"I don't know," she cut me off. "I know Paul really does want to work this out, but I don't know if Mallory will cooperate. I hope everything turns out okay, though. He loves her very much, I mean, he's her father!"

I nodded, not knowing what to say. I hoped everything would turn out okay too.


	12. Chapter 12

"Owen…"

"Oh no, not again!" he said, rolling over and glancing sleepily at the clock. It was 2:30 in the morning. "What is it this time?" he asked.

I thought for a moment, wrapping my arms around him. "Pancakes definitely…and bacon."

"Only one place for bacon, then."

I knew I had been driving Owen crazy these last few months with my hunger swings. This 2 a.m. craving was nothing compared to some other nights, when I absolutely needed something totally drastic, like chocolate ice cream and pickles. So now we were in the car, Owen watching the road, fighting to stay awake. He was on autopilot, his window was rolled down and his elbow was sticking out. I listened intently to the music that was playing as I traced the small swell of my abdomen with my finger. I closed my eyes for a second, my mouth watering at the scent of sweet bacon. When I opened my lids, I saw that the smell had woken up Owen; he was on full alert. He pulled off the exit, and by the time we got to the World of Waffles parking lot, I was ready to dive out of the car.

As soon as we walked through the door I remembered my jacket, which I had left at home. Goose bumps rose on my arms immediately, and I instinctively wrapped them around myself. Owen saw me and removed his own jacket, draping it over my shoulders. I smiled at him.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," I said, still grinning, "this just reminds me of the first time you took me here."

He smiled back, sheepishly. "Yeah, I remember that." He steered me to a table, where we both sat down. I ordered a stack of blueberry pancakes and…you guessed it! Bacon. Lots of bacon. So much bacon that it covered up the pancakes entirely. I was content. Owen, no longer tired, it seemed, was gulping orange juice.

"You know," I said between mouthfuls of bacon, "that day you took me here? That was also the first day we kissed, sort of. Technically we did kiss, before we were rudely interrupted." I remembered fearing that things would be sort of awkward after that, but they weren't. They never would be.

"Yeah," Owen said, "and one thing led to another and … things just got kind of out of hand." He gestured toward my small bulge jokingly, a grin on his face.

"Yup," I said, playing along, "I got knocked up." He laughed. "But seriously," I asked him, my mouth full of wonderful blueberry-ness, "how do you feel about this whole thing?"

He thought a moment, watching as a tried looking waitress halfheartedly swept the floors. "I never thought I'd have kids, truthfully," he said. "It had never really occurred to me that I might until you brought it up."

"So you know nothing, nothing at all about kids?" I asked, smiling at him again.

"I do know one thing: If you give them toys they shut up…even if it is for just five minutes."

I laughed. "Where did you learn that?"

"I think I saw it on TV once."

"Well," I told him, "you're gonna have to learn a few things, huh?"

His smile slowly faded as he got my gist.

"You're going to have to know how to change a diaper, how to make a bottle, how to deal with spit up stains…"

His groan cut me off.

"You're also going to have to learn how to deal with that anger just a little bit better, because this kind of thing takes a lot of patience…you have to learn gentleness." I knew this would be a real problem, because as a non-sentimental kind of person, he barely knew what to do with me whenever I got all teary eyed. My doctor, Dr. Roberts, had tried to explain to him how to be gentle, I knew because she asked to speak to him privately, but I don't think he got it.

When we were done eating, we were pumped. Neither of us felt like going home, so we drove through some back roads randomly until Owen stopped at an open field.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"I have no idea, but look," Owen pointed out of the window.

I found myself sitting right next to Owen in that field, as we both gazed up at the beautiful stars up above us. We had both been sitting there for a couple of silent minutes before Owen spoke.

"You don't get this kind of view of the stars where we live," he said.

"I know," I replied. There were billions of tiny lights dotting the sky. It was funny to me how different things could be in one place than in another.

"What is amazing to me," Owen continued, "is that when you look at the stars, all you see and think of are little tiny specks of light, even though when you get a closer look at them, they are like massive balls of fire. There is always more than meets the eye."

I turned my head to look at him. He kept his gaze on the sky. "Kind of like people," I said. I mean, looking at Owen, who would know that inside that huge frame harnessed a complex mix of emotions other than anger? Who could sincerely look at him and think that there was something more than violence?

And now, I noticed something. Owen's iPod Touch, which had been lying in the grass beside us, was playing a heavy metal song, so outrageously wrong for this moment. It reminded me that even through all the chaos and screaming, the pounding in your ears, there was always a place of peace and serenity that kept everything from falling apart; you had to know where to find that place. Little did I know I would be searching for that place a lot sooner than I had expected.

I was disappointed when I didn't see the bubbly smile I usually saw whenever Bev came around. I opened the front door to find her looking deep in thought. "You all right?" I asked as she let herself in.

She jumped suddenly, as if I had startled her, and the grin I had been anticipating appeared. "Yeah," she replied, "I'm just a little confused about something." She started to speak again, but there was a knock at the door.

"Hold that thought," I told her and rushed back to the door. It was Rolly.

"Hey Annabel," he greeted me with a smile that would brighten anyone's day.

"Hi Rolly," I greeted him back.

"Dude, you're really getting fat!" He smiled even bigger, and I playfully hit him on the shoulder. "Is Owen here?"

"Owen!" I called loudly as I let Rolly in.

"Yah," was the muffled reply.

"Rolly's here!" Then we all heard the clomp clomp clomp of Owen's heavy shoes as he came downstairs.

"Hey, Rolly," he said, keeping his eyes glued to his iPod.

"Hey Rolly," Bev said from the couch. She tucked a piece of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. All three of us talked for a while, and then Owen urged Rolly upstairs so they could work on some music thing. I gestured for Bev to join me in the kitchen; I was starving! (Of course).

"So, how's everything going?" She asked me after taking a seat at the table, folding her hands in front of her.

I instinctively took my hands out of the refrigerator and folded them around my stomach for a second, then went back to grabbing a carton of strawberries while replying, "Fine."

"Hmmm nice."

I sat across from her at the table and began chomping on strawberries. "What was it that you were so confused about earlier?" I inquired my mouth still full red heavenliness.

"Well," she began, "I've been confused for a while now. I mean, it's like, I have more class than that, right? What's wrong with me? It's not like I'm trying to be rude or anything, but what the hell? He's a janitor!"

"Wait," I stopped her, "what are you talking about?"

"Aren't to paying attention?" She snapped, and then sighed. "Okay, there's this guy, and we're not like, friends or anything, I mean, he's the janitor at my job! We're more like acquaintances. But," she paused, "I think I like him, you know? What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," I consoled her; "there's nothing wrong with liking a janitor. Is he cute?"

"Oh, he's gorgeous, Annabel." She smiled to herself. "And he's nice, and funny. We've talked a few times," she added. "But he's the janitor!" she cried. I reached over and patted her hand.

"Hey, love works that way," I said, half jokingly. "What's his name?"

"Will," she said dreamily. "Will Cash."

**Okay idk if you knew where this was going or not I think it kind of sucks the way I brought him in, but I was kind of drawing a blank. Enjoy (if you can)!**


	13. Chapter 13

I was a fool for thinking I'd be so lucky as to never have to worry about Will Cash for the rest of my life─ I mean, he had to get of jail some time, right? I had come to a point where he and everything that had happened to me that year between Sophie and I had become a distant memory, something that I would never forget, but also something that I would not allow to control my life again. As for Will, in the back of my mind I knew he would get out eventually. What I wasn't counting on was him being such a prominent figure in the life of someone whom I cared so much about.

Which brought up the subject of Bev. What was I supposed to say to her? Surely she didn't know the story about Will, or else she would not have looked at him twice. If I told her…then she would be spared….spared what? What if Will had actually changed? What if he was just trying to start over? If he really was as great as Bev was making him out to be, then what do I need to burst her bubble for? Why should I ruin Will's chance of starting over?

But what if he hadn't changed. What if he just wanted to take advantage of her? Then what do I do? The way she described him was very similar to the way Sophie used to speak of him. I didn't know if I had the right to tell things that Will maybe wanted to keep secret for a reason. I didn't have the right, because maybe, even though he had made many very wrong choices in his life, he deserved a fighting chance to start fresh in life. But it was my right, as a fellow woman to Bev, to warn her that she could be in danger because of Will's past.

I was between a rock and a hard place, unable to choose.

**Well, what should Annabel do? Tell Bev about Will or no? I have no idea. Review or PM and the majority's choice will decide what I should write next. YOUR HELP IS GREATLY ACCEPTED AND APPRECIATED.**


	14. Chapter 14

I had to tell her. She deserved to know.

Not noticing my sudden silent stupor, Bev had continued to talk, as if she were in a dream. Not listening, I interrupted her. "Um, Bev?"

"Yeah," she said, letting the word drone on in a singsong way.

"Um," I stuttered, "there's something you should know about Will."

"Wha?" she replied, suddenly removed form her dandy dream. "You know him? You know will? Ohmigosh this is so great!"

Before she could say anything more I cut her off. "I…we…my friend used to go out with him in high school. Listen, Bev, I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, or anything, but Will…he's had a bad past. But, maybe he's changed," I added chipperly when her face began to drop.

"Define bad past," she demanded, her voice jumping up a couple octaves.

"Well, I don't know when he got out, but he had been in jail since I was a junior in high school. But, by the way you described him, it seems like he really has changed, you know?" Again, I was digging myself a hole. Bev's face seemed to get sadder and sadder with each word I spoke.

"What was he in for?"

Dammit, I thought. "Rape," I said, my voice almost inaudible.

"Oh, God." She finally crumbled, sobbing heavily and burying her face in her palms.

Before I could think about it, I was right beside her, consoling her. "Bev, I didn't mean to upset you. I just thought you should know…"

"No no no," she replied, "I appreciate you telling me that because I know he wouldn't have."

Sob.

"I mean, he was just so nice and funny and charming, and it turns out he's a…a…rapist!"

"_Was_ a rapist," I told her. "Maybe he's trying to change." I stiffened. Was I really defending will cash? Why?

"What do you owe him that you're defending him like this?" Bev asked angrily.

"Nothing," I said, "Absolutely nothing."

I watched silently as Owen pulled of his shirt, getting ready to turn in. I got into a sitting position on the bed, crossing my legs Indian style.

"So," I began, resting my chin in my palm, "Will Cash is out of jail."

He looked at me for a second, the most interminable second of my life, his green eyes completely unreadable. "Oh, so you found out." He tossed the shirt into his closet.

It took me a full fifteen seconds to process those five words. "Wait, I said finally, "you knew?"

"Yeah," he grunted, lifting a dumbbell from a drawer. Just going through the motions. Couldn't he see that I was in mortal turmoil here? Just sitting there, on the bed, lifting weights, while I was freaking out. Wait, was I freaking out? I realized that I actually felt unusually calm. Not that palled feeling I used to get when I thought about Will.

"How long have you known?"

"He's been out for about two months."

"And you didn't tell me?"

He stopped lifting and stared. Then he set the dumbbell down and scooted closer to me. "What good would it have done if I had told you? I mean, being pregnant and all, you could have done one of two things: had an emotional meltdown with all the crying…or you have had an emotional breakdown with all the yelling."

I had to laugh at that one. I looked up at him. His mouth was serious, but his eyes were laughing now. "I guess I have to give you that one," I told him, still giggling, "but I still wish you had told me." I became sober again.

"Why? What happened?"

"Bev's the one who told me, in her own way. Apparently she knows him from her job…but she didn't know about…you know…"

"You told her about what he did to you?"

I looked down at my hands. "No, I just told her that he had been in jail for rape. And she freaked! Maybe I shouldn't have done that, I mean, she liked him, you know?"

"She had a right to know."

I stared back up into his face. "But maybe I ruined his chance of starting over?"

He thought for a moment. "It's still better she knows. Just to make sure no one gets hurt again."

"Yeah," I agreed.

After a few moments things were back to normal. "So, how far along are you again? Cuz dude, you're really fat."

I punched him.

"Ow," he said, surprised. "Where'd that come from?"

"Where did what come from?" I asked.

"That killer right hook! It's almost as good as Clarke's, man!"

I glanced at my right fist and shrugged. "I guess it comes with the package, I replied, gesturing toward my bulging gut. I think I'm about five and a half months along."

He moaned. "It's happening too quickly!"

I laughed. "It'll be fine. You'll live. Parenting is easy, I think, once you get the hang of it."

He grimaced.

"What?"

"That word! Parenting. Parenthood. It makes me feel so old! And yeah, right," he snorted. "Easy? If this kid is anything like I was, we are in for a hell of a nightmare, Annabel."

"If this kid is anything like you, I'll let you do all the work," I smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Ha ha, you are so funny."

"I know," I countered.


	15. Chapter 15

I shivered as Dr. Robbins smeared the cold gel onto my stomach. I watched the monitor to my right, a fuzzy gray image of what was taking place inside me right at this moment. I couldn't really tell what it was, though. To me the baby looked sort like a blob of play dough. It looked like it had two heads and claws. That would Owen's exact description on any child. I could hear the heartbeat, but it sounded skewed, an off rhythm. "Looks like you have yourself a set of twins," Dr. Robbins said. I sat there, shocked. Twins? I had to admit that was kind intimidating, even for me. I felt that now, I could kind of relate with Owen. Or maybe not. I was almost afraid to turn and look at the expression I imagined would be on his face. I pictured a countenance of such a pure horror that it was almost funny. So, until I cold muster up the courage to look him in the eye, I stared at the blurred silhouettes until somehow they began to take shape right before my eyes. Suddenly I could see the arms, legs, and heads of my babies. I blinked a few times, just to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing, and I was. I turned, very slowly, and behold, the face of…mild surprise. That was it. He wasn't freaking out or hyperventilating like I thought he would be. I almost started to get concerned because he was so calm. But I felt a little better when he tensed at the words "twin girls."

Later on, back at home that evening, I found him sitting on the couch, omnipresent ear buds stuck in his ears. His eyes were closed, his head bobbing slightly. He had been kind of quieter than usual; not that he didn't have a right to be. I knew that he had to be stressed because I know I was. He may not have been showing it, but I knew he was probably feeling some sort of…something? I didn't know. I tiptoed as silently as a five month pregnant woman could tiptoe, and plopped myself firmly on his lap.

"Ho-ly shit, you're heavy," he groaned, startled. One of his earphones fell out and I could hear a steady pounding beat.

I waited for Owen to adjust to the extra weight, then asked, "What are you listening to?"

"Day and Night by Kid Cudi," he replied.

"Oh, I've heard that one before on the radio. But I can't figure out what it is about."

I just looked at me. "It's about getting stoned."

"What?"

"Says right in the song. 'The lonely stoner seems to free his mind at night.'"

I nodded. "That makes sense."

He nodded in response. "Can I tell you something?"

I stared at him incredulously. "Okay, first of all, why would say no? of course you can tell me anything you want. Secondly, even if I did say no, would that seriously stop you?" I smiled, hoping to get the same from him. Not so lucky.

"I guess not. Okay, here's the confession. I am scared out of my mind. I mean, I am really freaked. Twins? Really? Girls? REALLY? I wouldn't even know how to…I don't even know what I wouldn't know what to do!" he ran a hand over his face and I placed my hand on the back of hid neck. "Just thinking about all the crying…lack of sleep…I just have no clue as to what parenting― God, I hate that word― might entail. Especially when it comes to parenting girls." He sighed. And if she― they are anything like you, I'm locking myself up. End of story."

I made a face. "Ha." Alright. Advice time. "Well, if it helps any, you should really talk to my dad. I mean, he had to suffer through three daughters plus my mom? I think he could give you a few tips, you know? That's from a father's point of view."

"Yeah, well, what can you tell me?"

"It's not much about what I can tell you as what I can show you." I wrapped both of my arms around his neck. I was sucking up again. "Starting tomorrow, you are registered into Baby Boot Camp."

"That doesn't sound very fun," he said. "And it just so happens that I have to work tomorrow."

"Fine. It may not be tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day, but we will get this done. By the time I'm done with you, you will be an expert in changing diapers, making bottles, and cuddling infants." I squeezed his neck a little.

"You did not," he said, his voice flat, "just say the word cuddle."

"And what if I did?"

He rolled his eyes. "It is one thing for you to want me to do all these things, because it just so turns out that I want to be able to know these things even though I won't exactly love the actual learning process. It is completely unnecessary to add in all the lovey dovey childish vocabulary."

"Oh shut up. And it just so happens that I am in a lovey dovey kind of mood, so deal with it." to emphasize the lovey dovey, I gave him a big kiss. I was anticipating the eye roll I was about to get in the next half second after the kiss when I felt it, the odd, ticklish resistance under my skin: a kick. "Whoa," I said, jerking up completely straight. I grasped Owen's hand and pressed it to the side of my stomach.

"That is…weird," Owen mumbled, but his face said something a little bit different. His expression was a mix of mystification and a variation of being freaked out.

"It stopped," he said absently. "Do it again."

I raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Twins, kick!" I commanded my stomach. "Oh, it looks like they're done for today."

"I just realized how stupid I sounded."

I nodded. "Hey, do you feel like McDonalds? I feel like McDonalds. Let's go get some McDonalds."


	16. Chapter 16

"Have I ever beaten you at a game of Gin Rummy before?" I asked Clarke as, once again, surrendered to her reign of terror.

She pretended to think while expertly shuffling. "Um, nope," she concluded. "I think I've been beating you at Gin since…forever, I guess." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Another round?"

"We've already played eleven rounds today. You just can't get enough of beating me, can you?" I grunted as she helped pull me up from the couch. "Plus we have to get to my parent's house."

"Beating you is so fun it's actually addictive." She laughed. "That's why I hate playing against Rolly because he wins every once in a while. I hate that!"

"But it's only once in a while…"

"Exactly!" she said as we made our way out to her car. "I can't stand not knowing when I might lose. It's irritating!"

Before we went to my parent's house, we stopped to pick up Mallory. I was glad for this, because anything that would keep me from being taken into my mother's obsessive grasp was a heavenly thing. She was dead set on throwing me a baby shower and had recruited me, my sisters, Clarke, Bev, Theresa, and Mallory to help. I'd told her I didn't want a baby shower, to just give me whatever you want to give me and be done with it, but she pretended not to hear me whenever I brought it up, palling my opinion. The only good thing was that I was going to get to see Kirsten for the first time since my wedding. She had been stuck up in New York a lot this year with work, which meant she wasn't able to visit. I was so excited to see her I almost didn't mind preparing for a hideous frilly pink gala against my will. But I still had a sort of weight on my shoulders with Bev. I hadn't seen her since the incident, and every time I tried to call her and talk about it, she would shut me down. It turns out this whole thing had hit her harder than I thought. I was glad then that I hadn't told her the whole truth about me and Will. I don't know what would have happened then.

"So," Clarke began when we had set out on the road toward Theresa's, "How's the whole Baby Boot Camp thing going, huh? Has Owen improved his diaper changing skills? Because the last time I saw, they weren't so great." She glanced at me for a second and giggled before turning her attention back to the road.

I laughed as we pulled into Owen's old neighborhood. It took over a week after my announcement about the Baby Boot Camp for the training to begin. He had used every excuse in the book to avoid having to learn the basic abilities of fatherhood (I'd made sure to use all the words he hated such as parenting, fatherhood, etc just to make him squirm once we started). For four days straight he conveniently had to work late, and the next couple of days I would just barely miss him running out of the house to go do whatever with Rolly. A very brief chat with his best friend ended that, but then, suddenly Owen had a craving to start taking part in long jogs with Wes and Macy. Another short conversation ended that, and he was all mine. He had no where to turn, so I whipped out the baby wipes, diapers, and Similac. Oh, and not to mention My Real Life Baby.

My Real Life Baby (aka The Devil Doll, by Owen's standards) was a doll that was almost exactly like a real baby. It cried and peed and made sounds like a real baby. It seemed to me that since had no knowledge whatsoever on how to change a diaper, we should work on that first.

Owen's first try at changing a diaper was…well, in a word, unsuccessful. He just couldn't seem to grasp the concept of the sticky tabs and where they should go.

After several failed attempts, he began to get frustrated, so I moved on for the time being to something simpler: holding the baby.

"Okay. Make sure you support the head with your arm. Yeah. Just like that." I took a step backward to examine my handiwork. Okay, sure, Owen was holding the doll the right way, but he was holding it in such a way that it was touching nothing but his arms. My eyebrows drew together and I gave Owen my most derogatory glare. "What," I said, moving closer to him, "are you doing?"

Owen's countenance turned from awkward to wary. "What are you doing? Why are you looking like that? I'm holding the thing, aren't I? Am I doing it wrong? STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!"

I stepped closer and took hold of Owen's stiff arms. "Relax," I told him, gently guiding his arms to his body so that he was holding the doll correctly. "See? That's not so bad, is it?"

He thought for a moment. "I guess not," he said slowly. He rocked the baby a little, testing the feel of it. "Okay, it's not too bad, I guess. Except this doll face is kind of creeping me out. It looks…evil."

"Don't worry, you'll have some experience with real babies soon enough."

It must have been noon by the time we pulled up into Theresa's driveway. Both me and Clarke had confused looks on our faces when we pulled up next to a strange car in the driveway. It wasn't Theresa's car; she was supposed to be at my mother's house already. That's why we were picking up Mallory. It all made sense when I happened to glance at the porch. "Look," I said, nudging Clarke and jabbing the window toward where Mallory was sitting. She wasn't alone. Sitting next to her on the porch steps was a boy. He was wiry and slim with light brown hair cut short. From what I could see, he was dressed casually in a gray graphic t-shirt and jeans. He was smiling down at Mallory, and as he did so he put an arm around her. Mallory's face seemed to glow; even from where I was I could see it.

"Awwww," Clarke and I crooned together. Clarke honked the horn and both Mallory and the Mystery Guy jumped. Mallory said something to him, and they both stood. Before heading back to his car, he kissed her on the lips. Twice. "Awww," me and Clarke said, even louder than before, and I was surprised they couldn't hear us out there. Mallory headed toward us, all smiles. Mystery Guy waved to us as he pulled away and Mallory joined us in the car. It was time for the Third Degree. Clarke and I took turns asking questions.

"Who was that?"

"What's his name?"

"Does your mom know about him?"

"How'd you meet him?"

"How long have you been with him?"

"How come you didn't tell me?"

We were both staring back at her, waiting for answers. Mallory sat in the back seat, staring back, probably trying to get her thoughts together before speaking. Finally the grin returned, and she began the babble that would last all throughout the drive to my mother's.


	17. Chapter 17

Things we knew about Mallory's Boyfriend:

His name was Tom

Yes, her mother knew about him

They met at school and had started going out at the beginning of the summer (it was almost September now)

He was in a band that played at Bendo called The Well Hungarians. He was the lead guitarist.

They were positively in love.

"So, how are things going with your dad?"

Mallory sighed and slumped in her seat as if she had been hurled from Cloud 9 without a parachute. She relayed to us that since her dad had ended his visit at Lakeview, he made a point of calling more and seemed to actually care about what was going on in her life. "But it's just not the same," she said. "I don't want him to feel obligated, you know? Sometimes it's kind of awkward because he missed so much of my life and doesn't know what I'm talking about some of the time. I'm thinking about giving him a play-by-play of what's happened over the last few years." She laughed a little. "But I really am glad he cares, though, even if it's not the way I imagined it."

We were at my parents' house, sitting around the table putting invitations into envelopes and then addressing them. According to the foot-high stack of invites, there were a lot of people coming. It was just me, Mallory and Clarke working at the table, because my mother and Theresa were in the living room discussing decorations and food. After he had given me a kiss on the cheek and said hi, my father locked himself in his office to avoid having to help with anything. Owen and Rolly were supposed to be here soon, after they got out of the studio for the day. Bev hadn't come yet either. I reached for another envelope. "Give it a little time and it will get better," I said to Mallory. I could see that she was more solemn now, and I didn't want her to brood, so I changed the subject. "I can't believe my mother sent my sisters to the store when she knew I wanted to see them so bad." I pouted. "Mom! When are Kirsten and Whitney coming back?"

I heard my mother answer, but I wasn't listening, because just then I saw two bright headlights pulling into the driveway through the glass front of the house. The lights went off, and two people got out of the car, their arms loaded with bags. I knew it was Whitney and Kirsten. I stood, ready to run and greet them, until I remembered I was pregnant and running was one of those things that pregnant women couldn't do. So I sat down again. I waited as my sisters made their way up the walk and Whitney put the key in the door. The lock clicked, and the door opened. I stood again, all grins. Kirsten dropped the bags on the floor and ran to me. She embraced me as best as she could, though it was hard on account of my gut, then stepped back and scanned me from head to toe. "Oh my God you are huge!" she bounced on her toes a little. "What's the gender?"

"Twin girls," I replied, and then reached out to embrace Whitney, also.

Owen and Rolly eventually showed up, and it was soon made apparent they were here not help, but to watch us do all the work. After about six hours of stuffing envelopes and placing little mints into little pink mesh baggies, I was ready to go home. I had mixed emotions; I was brimming with happiness at seeing my sister, but I was also bummed that Bev never showed. I joined Owen and Rolly in the living room. "This baby shower thing is going to drive me nuts," I announced.

"You know, this is sort of like the whole modeling thing," Owen said to me as I slowly lowered myself onto the couch next to him.

I looked at him. "It is not like the modeling thing. My mother knows my opinions very well. She just insists on ignoring them."

Owen shrugged. I heard the doorbell ring, and before I could register it, Mallory was already up and peering through the peephole. She unlocked the bolt and slid the door open, stepping aside so that Bev could make her way in.

Bev looked around and gave a "hello" smile to my mother, father, Clarke, and Mallory and her mother. Her eyes scanned the entire house ground floor until she spotted me and Owen. In a few quick strides she was in front of me, leaning down, her eyes intense. The smile was gone. "I need to talk to you. Upstairs. Now." And at that she strode away, stomping up the stairs, all eyes staring after her. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and then there was silence. Then everyone looked at me.

"Um," I stuttered, then let out a nervous laugh. Unable to say more, I spent an awkward thirty seconds trying to lift myself from the couch. Owen got tired of watching the struggle first, stood up, and in one quick tug, I was on my feet again. I waddled up the stairs, turned the corner to my old room, and stepped inside.

When I moved out my mother wasted no time in converting it to her own little fitness center where she did her daily yoga and did various exercises with a big blue bouncing ball. I found her there, pacing the length of the room. She had her hand on her chin and her eyes were glued to the floor. She was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice me standing in the doorway, and I was kind of thankful for that. I wasn't totally ready for whatever it was that she had to say. It must have been kind of important for her to not return any of my phone calls and be looking this angry. What was it? Did Will do something? Was she going insane? I couldn't tell. After about a minute, she looked up at me and I felt a shudder in my gut. And trust me; it wasn't the twins kicking this time. I walked farther into the room and Bev stood right in front of me. "You must really want me to be with Will. Is that it? Do you want me to be with him?"

"I-I-I don't know what you mean," I answered confusedly.

She bit her lip and dragged a hand over her face. Her expression got even angrier than before. "Well it's sort of obvious, don't you think?" her voice rose an octave. I was glad I had closed the door behind me or else everyone downstairs would have heard her. "You must want me to be with him so badly that you didn't tell me that it was you he raped." Her voice cracked, and she began to pace again.

I stood there dumbfounded. Dammit, I thought. So she knew now. This whole thing had suddenly become just a little more difficult. Then I began to get angry. I was angry at myself─ for not telling her the whole story or for telling her anything at all I didn't know─ I was mad at Bev for getting all up in my face about this. "I didn't think that details were important at the time."

"HOW COULD THE DETAILS NOT BE IMPORTANT?" she practically screamed at me. "Why should I have not known about this? The fact that I was this close to being with him, and he just happened to have raped one of my best friends? How is that not important? You should have told me the whole truth about that scumbag."

"Well excuse me for not holding a grudge and wanting him to have a second chance!" I screamed back at her. "Excuse me for trying to think the best, for thinking that maybe he has changed, and giving him a shot to meet a great person like you and start over!"

"I still don't understand why you feel the need to defend him. He raped you, Annabel. Why should he deserve a second chance?"

"I can't be the judge of why he does or doesn't need another chance. But the way you talked about him, described him, it was something that made me believe that he had changed. And if he had changed, then why not have a second chance? But I guess it's too late now."

"I guess it is." Bev stalked out of the room and I waited until the front door opened and closed again.

That night I cried into Owen's shoulder for an hour. I wasn't really sure if I would have cried my guts out if I wasn't six months pregnant, but it helped to blame the tears on something. After I finished sobbing I told a very confused Owen what was wrong. And then, as I explained what happened upstairs, I began to get angry.

First, I was mad at Bev for getting all up in my face about this. This whole thing was her problem, not mine. Why did I have to be pulled into another Will Cash controversy? What did I do to deserve this? I was trying to help Bev when I told her what I told her. I was also trying to help Will by not telling the whole truth. Then I got mad at myself. I should have just told her the whole truth, no matter what. Then none of this would have ever happened. Even though it obviously didn't matter whether I told her the whole truth or not, Will wouldn't have stood a chance either way. I came to the conclusion that my life was a black hole and I was the stupidest person on earth and deserved to rot I hell for all eternity. "Don't you think that a little bit over dramatic?" Owen asked after I finally took a breath and collapsed spread-eagle on my back on the bed, my hair covering my dejected expression. "Yes," I replied, calmly, "But I don't care. This is all my fault and I don't know how to fix this."

The next morning, I woke up, got dressed and made myself a big, lovely bowl of Guilt, Frustration, and Froot Loops. I brainstormed in front of the TV on how I was going to fix this mess. Then I heard the doorbell ring. I hauled myself up from the couch, wondering the whole twenty seconds why couches had to be so low. I set my cereal on the coffee table and waddled to the front door and opened it. The first thing I felt when I saw who was on the other side of the threshold was relief that Owen was at work, because there, standing in front of me, was Will Cash, in the flesh. I fainted.


	18. Chapter 18

Okay, so I didn't faint, but there was a moment after seeing Will's face that I just kind of blanked out. I didn't hear or see anything except his face. And even then it was as if I wasn't looking at him standing right in front of me, right now. I saw him that day in the courthouse, his profile, the purplish bruise on his eye. I was seeing him that night, after the light had exposed us, and he was staring at the sea foam green carpet. For some reason I remembered how smelly and rough that carpet was carpet had been on my skin as I was being forced to lay there, defenseless. Then I realized how much I hated that feeling. Of being defenseless, I mean. And again I began to feel angry. Why didn't I fight harder? Why didn't I tell Sophie what really happened? Why was he here? After what he did to me? Why…?

I stopped myself. What use was it to brood over what could have been done? The past was the past, and there was no way to change that. What Will did to me he did to me, and I am over it, I had to remind myself. And I had actually forgiven him. I had no answer as to why I forgave him, but it did no good hating him for the rest of my life. What I never thought would happen is this: that Will Cash would be standing at my front door. Ohmigod, he's standing at my front door! Say something, you idiot! But don't say anything stupid, I told myself. Be calm. I was still debating with myself over what to say when he beat me to the punch.

"Um, Annabel?" he said, his eyes glued to his shoes. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, and sneakers. He had a goatee and his hair….Ohmigod his hair! It was past his shoulders, like Rolly's or Wes's. Wow. I wondered how I looked to him. Pregnant, my hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. I was wearing the usual: one of Owen's oversized t-shirts and ratty sweats. Will wrung his hands, staring at his shoes. I realized once again that I hadn't said anything. I opened my mouth to speak, wait, did I? Well, anyway, he spoke again before words could form on my lips. This was a good thing, considering I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to say to him.

"I know you hate me," he began. His voice was low and smooth, just like a remembered it to be, but in the way he spoke now, it took on a nervous pitch. "God knows I know you hate me. But I promise you I've changed. I promise. I had a lot of time to think while I was…you know…" he trailed off as he sank back into his own memory. I watched him think, wondering exactly what he was thinking about. "I took therapy sessions," he said suddenly, snapping out of his trance and snapping me out of mine. I jumped a little. "Sorry," he said. And once again I could do nothing better than stare at him stupidly. He noticed this also, and kept talking. "Listen. I want to tell you why I did what I did. But I can't. I can't because I don't know myself. I spent countless hours wondering why I would do such a stupid thing…I wondered why I did so many stupid things…but I just can't explain it. But what I do know is that what I did to you effected so many people…you the most….and I am sorry, Annabel. I'm sorry." He took a deep breath, and his shoulder dropped, as if a weight had been lifted from him.

Call me crazy, but after all that, I felt the extremely odd urge to hug Will Cash. I felt a tear run down my face. Will watched it make its way down my face. Then, for the first time since he had shown up at my door, he looked me in my eyes. And I looked straight back into his. His eyes were not the same as they had been. They didn't have the same penetrating stare that used to make me nervous and giddy. His eyes were more thoughtful now, deeper, so I could almost see the cogs working and ticking behind his pupils, trying to read me. Again I wondered what he saw. Two seconds of looking into those new eyes and I suddenly found my voice. "Do you want to come in?" I asked, swinging the door open behind me.

He just looked at me for a moment, probably contemplating whether he had heard me right. "Yes," he said to me finally, "Thank you."

**Yes, this chapter is short. Yes, Annabel is crazy. Yes, Will is crazy. Yes, I am crazy. But you know what? THIS IS MY STORY AND I'LL DO WHAT I WANT WITH IT! So therefore, Will Cash has been forgiven. I just had to get through that apologetic part before I did anything else…yep. **


	19. Chapter 19

When I was five I got stung in the arm by a bee. Within the next day or so, the sting became infected. I remember how it felt when the bee sunk its stinger into my tender flesh, how it hurt. I remember running to my father in tears, pleading him to take the pain away. He carried me into the bathroom, sat me on the counter, placed a wet rag over the wound and asked me how it happened. I told him the bees were chasing me. He asked me why. I said because they came out of their house. Why, Annabel? His eyes were steady on mine. What did you do? Nothing, I told him. The stick hit the bee house! How did the stick hit the bee house, Annabel? My father's voice lowered, and I knew I was caught. Because, I answered, sighing and staring at the floor, my eyes still tearing from the stinging in my arm, because I threw the stick, daddy. That's why.

The next morning my whole entire arm was throbbing. I had to be rushed to the hospital. One of the scariest days of my life. For almost a year after that, yellow and black stripes danced behind my eyelids at night, causing me to have nightmares. I refused to play outside. No, daddy, I'd rather play with my Barbie's inside, thank you. I would practically sprint from the car the house whenever we went out. Then one summer day I was out in the backyard with Kirsten, helping her clean the pool. Whitney sat by the edge of the pool, looking dejected. I had just finished scrubbing one wall of the pool and had stood up straight to wipe the sweat from my brow when I saw the terrible black and yellow zoom right past me. I instantly started to retreat back into the house…and bumped right into Kirsten, who planted her hands firmly on my shoulders, keeping me in place. I squirmed and kicked and screamed, but she only wrapped her arms around me and kept me in place. We're all going to die! I screamed. But she made me sit there and watch my killer circle us both. Don't move and he won't bother you, she told me. I just stared up at her. What was she, crazy? But I listened to her. The bee circled and circled and circled…then flew away. I was safe. I was still scared of bees to this day, but as long as I stayed completely frozen and didn't run, I was okay.

Will Cash was like that bee. I wasn't going to run away, because I knew he would just come back. It seemed that he was always going to be there, in some way, shape or form, whether it is in a nightmare or right before my own eyes. And something told me that I needed to be here with him right now, that there was a reason for this. Bev. Bev was the reason. I need to do this for Bev. That's why he was here, right? Why else would he show up at my door?

We went into the dining room. He sat across from me, hands folded in front of him on the table top. He made a polite comment on my expectance. I thanked him. He was silent for a long time, just looking at his hands. My mouth decided to do the talking this time. "So you came here about Bev," I said to him.

"Yeah," he answered. "I know I've made a lot of mistakes, in my life, Annabel, but I want to make it right. I really do."

"I know that now," I told him. "I guess this whole thing is sort of my fault," I said bitterly, passing a hand over my seven-month round belly. "I was the one who told her…"

"No, don't blame yourself for anything," Will interrupted. "We both know she deserved to know the truth. There's no getting around that. It's just…" he paused, sighing; "I wish she could find some way to forgive me…like you did." He stared into my eyes, and I stared into his.

My brain told me I should be crying right now, but my eyes stayed clear. I couldn't stop staring at him. His eyes…they had the same depth that they had years ago…but I could read him so easily now. That was why I was so calm around him now. Before, I could never know what was going on in his head, what he was thinking as he stared at me to the point of awkwardness. Looking into those eyes today, I saw it all. "You love her, don't you?"

He chuckled, lowering his head for a second, and then raising it back up. "Yeah, I think I do." He chuckled again. "Crazy, isn't it? I've been with so many…and I've only known her a few months…went out with her twice…and I love her." He was still looking at me, but even with that I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or to himself. "And now she's gone, gone, gone…" he blinked, and suddenly hopped out of his seat. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, a nervous, jumpy tone rising in his voice. "I shouldn't have shown up here, I'm sorry. I have no business…you wouldn't…I just…"

Call me crazy, but I understood all the gibberish he was mumbling. "I'll talk to her," I said amidst all the rambling.\

He looked shocked. "Really? He said. You would do that?"

"Um, sure" I said slowly, trying to convince myself, as well as him.

The next thing I knew Will Cash was on his knees in front of me. He reached out, grasping my hands in his. I noticed with surprise at how soft they were, for some reason. "You would really, really do that for me?"

I was too stunned to speak immediately, so he kept talking. "You really don't have to," he said. "I wouldn't ask you to do anything for me after what I did to you, really. I wouldn't."

"I'll do it," I assured him.

He hugged me.

After Will left, the house seemed so empty. I was here alone…in the silence. I actually sat in the living room for a while staring at the wall, until the silence became unbearable. So I hopped (rose slowly and painfully) up from the couch, scanned through Owen's CD collection, picked a random disc, popped it into the surround sound stereo and turned up the volume as loud as it could go. Disturbed filled the entire house, and I felt content. I waddled into the kitchen and pulled out the ingredients for lasagna. I hummed along to Down With the Sickness. Tomato Sauce…check. Pasta…check. Cheese…check. I needed to have this ready by the time Owen got home so that I could tell him about Will. I had to tell him. This was going to be a long day…and night…


	20. Chapter 20

**Owe-Em-Gee I am such an idiot. It was brought to my attenetion that I said Annabel was SEVEN months pregnant in the last chapter. I have no clue what I was thinking; I don't think I was thinking at all. Yes, it is still mid-September and Annabel is still somewhere near six months pregnant. When I saw that I was like, "HOLY $&!" and mentally slapped myself. please forgive me.**

**

* * *

  
**

An hour and a half later my nearly perfect pan of lasagna was cooling peacefully on the stove. It was all I could do not to devour it right then and there. Leaving the kitchen wouldn't really help much; the sweet aroma of cheese and tomato sauce had made its way throughout the whole house. By now the disturbed CD had ended so I removed it from the stereo and chose another one. This time it was one of Owen's homemade disks. The first song was the potato song that Dexter and his band had written years ago. I remembered the first time I met Dex and Remy and the rest of the gang…that was the first time I'd gone to Bendo…and ditched Owen and Rolly and Clarke…all because of what happened to Emily…I shook my head to clear my brain. In with the good, out with the bad. In with the good, out with the bad. Will Cash was a changed man and he's trying to start over. He was in love with my friend, Bev. How was I supposed to do this? I didn't even know if Bev was willing to talk to me at this point. I had to admit that I was more than a little nervous about this whole situation. I thought for sure that I would burst out crying at any minute, but it didn't happen. I was handling this quite well, able to process everything clearly and rationally. Maybe it just hadn't hit me yet.

The song switched. Now a song was playing that I'd never heard before. It started out with what sounded like the banging of rusty cymbals, then the plucking of an old acoustic guitar, or a banjo, or something. Then the screaming began, and I covered my ears and crinkled my nose as I waddled back to the living room to at least turn it down, if not off entirely. Owen made it to the sound system before I did.

I was only a little surprised to see him home so early. He strode straight from the foyer to the stereo and turned the volume knob left-ways until the music was almost inaudible. "What was that all about?" he asked me.

"The house was too quiet," I replied. "I needed something to fill the space until you got here."

He looked at me for a moment, trying to read my eyes, then asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am," I smiled at him. "I'm fine." I stretched up on my toes to give him a quick kiss. "But we need to talk." I walked to the kitchen, where the lasagna was waiting.

"Are you breaking up with me or something?" Owen joked.

"No," I looked back at him, smiling again. "I have to tell you something." I praised myself for how well I was handling this. Usually by now this would be a soap opera moment, me falling into Owen's arms in tears, blubbering what happened earlier into his chest. But no. I was completely tear free, only ready to get this over with, knowing that Owen will overreact, knowing I would have to calm him. The only thing that changed was that suddenly I wasn't hungry. So I pulled out only one plate, one fork, and one knife from their various places in the kitchen and set them on the table for Owen as he eyed me suspiciously.

"What's this all about?" he asked halfheartedly as I loaded a chunk of lasagna onto his plate. He was scarfing it down before I could lower myself into the chair beside him. I watched him patiently as he ate, preparing myself. Sitting suddenly wasn't working for me. I pushed myself away from the table and lifted myself up so that I could stand behind Owen's chair. He was still stuffing his face as I placed my hands on his shoulders. Suddenly I was nervous. But I had to do this. Just get it over with.

"I-I spoke to Will Cash today." I made sure not to say "I saw Will Cash today" ― they were two different things. Owen froze for only half a second, and then he was up and facing me, breathing hard and fists clenched.

"He was here?!?" he all but roared. I flinched, and then nodded. "What did he say? What did he do to you? I'll kill him if he hurt you in any way." His eyes bore into mine like flaming emeralds. I reached out to him, sliding my palms up and down his arms, trying to calm him.

"He didn't do anything to me," I said, "I'm fine. He just wanted to talk…and to apologize for," I swallowed, "for what he did to me. And to talk about Bev." He didn't relax as I relayed the afternoon to him as close to verbatim as I could.

"He doesn't deserve it. He had no right to waltz in here and ask you to do anything for him," Owen declared when I was finished. By now I had gone from rubbing his arms to attempting to wrap my arms around him, though it didn't work like I wanted it to because of my stomach. My hands barely got past his waist. It also didn't help that Owen was so muscular. He hugged me back, still tense.

* * *

Later that night I climbed into bed, ready to be knocked unconscious after the day I'd had. Owen was already there, head resting against the headboard, eyes closed. I could hear music pulsing through the ear buds in his ears. His fingers drummed on his knee in sync with the angry, loud music. When my head finally rested against my pillow, I realized how jittery I had been all day, not able to sit still in one place for long. Now that I was settled, all the emotion that I felt was missing during the day spilled out like one of those big buckets at the local water parks. I was sobbing, no, blubbering, into my pillow, and then into Owen's chest as he gathered me up into his arms when he realized what was happening. There was no need to ask questions. This whole day had been so overwhelming; I'd bottled up everything by moving around, not thinking about what happened too hard or too much. But now, I let my thoughts flow freely, images of Will's solemn face, and then Bev's angry one. How was I going to do this? What was I going to do?


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

I wish there had been a sign from God that all this chaos going gon in my life was supposed to happen. I was slowly pacing my bedroom floor; one hand curled tightly around the cordless phone while the other grasped my hip, then scratched my scalp, and then reached up to my mouth as I cleared my throat several times. My fingers trembled as I dialed Bev's home number. Even if I didn't tell her about Will right away, I had to at least apologize. Owen, who was off today, had left the room to give me a little privacy. He was locked away in his office, being the music guru that he was. Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiing. "Hello, you have reached Beverly…" I pushed the End button on the phone. She must be at work. So I tried her cell. Riiiiiiiiiiinng. . Ring. "Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system." Not answering her cell either. Dammit! I debated for only half a second before dialing her work. "I'm sorry, Ms. Winston is not in at the moment, would you like to take a message?"

"No, no I'm fine," I sighed and hung up. Just screw everyone for making my life so hard. My mother was still on her warpath toward the perfect baby shower, and though he was making progress, Owen still had yet to grasp the concept of "loving parent." I fiddled with my wedding ring, a cool, flat comfort, and yelled upstairs. "Owen, come on in, and bring the doll with you." I (to my best ability) plopped down on the bed, smoothing my hands over the t shirt stretched across my belly.

"Awwww, not the devil doll…" Owen whined from deep inside his secret lair. He never let me inside his office. This exclusion was for no particular reason other than his excuse that it was a total mess in there. I heard him trudging down the hall with slow, agonized stomps. He appeared in the doorway, pale, worn baby doll helplessly dangling from his hand by the left foot.

"Is that how you're going to carry our children?" I chided. He corrected himself, forming his arms into a cradle and nestling the plastic toy close to him. "Good job," I encouraged. He walked tentatively to the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements (it might have woken the fake baby). He lowered himself down onto the bed as gracefully as a six-four army tank could manage.

"So…did you talk to her?"

"No," I said. "She wouldn't answer any of her phones. I guess she really doesn't want to talk to me."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true, Annabel," he said firmly. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

"I am not feeling sorry for myself!" I said indignantly. Still annoyed, I decided to give Owen a little test. "Let's work on those diaper changing skills." He groaned.

* * *

The next morning, I woke up early. I know this because Owen was still snoring beside me. I flung my feet over the edge of the bed and went into the bathroom. When there, I gracefully heaved last night's dinner into the toilet. A flush and two cycles of teeth brushing later, I emerged from my prison. "It's so embarrassing having to puke all the time like this," I said to Owen, who was sitting up in bed now, his hair sticking up in strange directions.

Still rubbing his eyes and yawning, he replied, "well, its not like it's the first time I've seen you blow chunks, so don't worry about it. I mean, thinking about it, that's sort how we, you know, met."

I sighed. "Still. I hate it." He grunted in response.

Later that afternoon, the sun was bright and lit the whole house, making me aware of all the little dust particles that floated around our house. Ew. Clad in a stretchy striped turtleneck my mother bought me from the maternity store at the mall and elastic wasted jeans, I lounged on the living room sofa, watching the dust particles fly this way and that, like feathers in a dream. This is what my life consisted of nowadays, watching TV and dust particles. I hardly ever left the house; accept when my mother or Clarke dragged me out to help with baby shower matters or "For my own health," as Clarke put it (yeah right). It would be better if Bev and I were on speaking terms. But we weren't. so I was bored. Even though Owen was off work often, he spent a lot of his time locked in his office or off with Rolly somewhere. I had just realized something disturbing when Owen walked in the room. he looked concerned at the trance I was in.

"Are you okay?" He asked, plopping down beside me on the couch, legs crossed. I turned my whole body to face him, propping myself up on my knees. Then I pounced. I pressed my lips to his eagerly, smoothing my hands over his hair and neck when he tensed. I kept kissing him. I wanted to go farther. I wanted to…I pushed myself away from him, allowing the frustrated air blow through my lips. "Are you okay?" He asked again for the second time in the last five minutes. "What was that about?" No matter how much I fought it, the tears gushed up between my eyelids, blurring my vision. I let out a sob. "What?" Owen said, panicked. "What's wrong? What did I do?" Without thinking, I pulled myself into his lap, resting my head in his chest and cried. Slowly, tentatively, he wrapped his arms around me, leaning back into the couch. "What's wrong?" He asked again, his voice softer.

"I haven't had sex in six months!!!" I wailed. "I want to have sex," I said. and continued to wail. I felt Owen's chest expand as if he were going to say something, but he didn't. we just sat there for a couple of minutes.

Finally he said, "don't you think your overreacting?" I sniffed.

"I know I'm overreacting. But come on, you have to admit you've noticed, unless you're cheating on me Owen."

"Of course I've noticed," he said calmly. "And no, I'm not cheating on you, that's for certain." I lifted my face to his, and kissed him. he kissed me back.

"I love you Owen," I said, and rested my head on his chest again. It took a bit, but he finally said it back.

"I love you too, Annabel."

* * *

This lovey dovey moment had to come to an end, too soon. An evil destroyed my happy place. "Better get that," I said, hopping (hauling myself) up from Owen's grasp. "I've got it," I said as he started get up too. I swiped my hands across my face and headed to the door. One glance through the peephole told me it was time to toss away all fear and sadness and step it up. I pulled the door open.

"Hi," Bev said, looking me straight in the eye. She was dressed casually, jeans and a turquoise blouse, with a coat for the crisp November air. Wow, it was November already. her car keys were dangling from her finger.

"Hi," I said. "come in." she gave me a weak smile. She wasn't mad anymore, of that I was certain. No hostility detected form her tone or posture. We entered the living room.

"Hi, Owen," Bev greeted him.

"hey Bev," Owen said back. he didn't need a signal; as soon as he saw Bev he knew it was time to for him to be anywhere but here.

"Will you sit down, please?" I pleaded. suddenly I panicked and blurted everything out in one word, it seemed. "…"

"Annabel, Annabel," Bev said, holding her palms up. "Slow down."

"I'm sorry," I sighed.

she looked confused. "What are you apologizing for?"

"what?"

"I should be the one apologizing."

"But I didn't tell you the whole truth and…"

"you were raped, Annabel. And I blew up in your face about it like it was all your fault when all you were doing was looking out for me. I'm sorry, Annabel for thinking selfishly. I never once stopped to think how this whole thing was affecting you. I am truly sorry."

I blinked, astonished. "I never even thought of it that way."

"You should have. I was being a total bitch to you. will you forgive me?"

All I could say was yes. But this wasn't over. There was more to discuss. After settling down with two cups of tea, I began. Id had more than enough time to think about how I would say this to her. "Will came by here." I stated.

"He did?" Bev said, more than a little surprised. "For what? Oh my god, you're so calm about this! how?"

"To tell the truth, I don't know," I laughed. But then I got serious. "We talked for a while. He really wants to be with you, Bev."

"I couldn't even think of being with him after what he did to you, Annabel!" Bev reached over, placing her hand over mine.

"He's changed," I countered. "I can see that."

"And you're okay with it?"

"Believe it or not, I am. I do think he has sincerely changed from the person I knew him as, rape aside. And he really, really likes you. you are proof that he has changed. Living proof. Surely you can see it too."


	22. Chapter 22

Hay guys im sorry its taking me so long to update my computer is broken again I figure I have about five minutes before it shuts down again…I warn you now it might be a while before I update again…but I promise it wont be too long and I promise that when I do come back I will upload the whole rest of my story and it. Will. Be. AWESOME! So, until then…

See ya!

p.s. again im so sorry about this!


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